Eight Legged Freaks

When I was little I used to go to the local underpass after school and hang out with my mates. This was a time when it was okay to go out alone as a kid and not have the fear of just about everything keeping you indoors and playing video games.
As soon as I finished school, I would get to the underpass and climb up on one of the sides as high as it would go and  tell my mates about my day. There were about fifteen in all and I had names for all of them. They would all sit quietly and listen about my day and then I would choose the "best" one and pick it up and play with it.
The reason I loved my friends so much was because I thought they were beautiful. They built the most amazing homes, had eight black long legs and not all, but most, had a red spot on their back. Not for one second did I think my friends would hurt me, even though most of them were some of the deadliest spiders in the world. I loved my friends because they didn't pick on me or bully me and I imagined that they loved me as much as I loved them. Then my family and I moved and I had to say goodbye to my friends.
This was before I had read Charlotte's Web (and when I did I could relate to having a spider as a friend).
My love for spiders has continued into my adult life and I still think they are incredibly beautiful. I still pick them up and I would never kill one.
So when a nicely sized black spider decided to set up camp just above my head in bed a couple of nights ago, all I felt was proud that I still had friends that wanted to hang with me. For the next few nights I would look up as I read my book and see my new friend and was happy he was still around.
After a few nights I think my new friend decided my bed must have looked comfortable because I woke up to find him crawling across my face. I must admit I was a little in shock. I mean he was cute and all but we weren't that stage of the relationship yet.
The next night was the same but rather than wait for me to fall asleep I looked up to see him coming down on his web and landed square on my face again.
There had to be a few stern words after that, as I didn't want him coming down and spooning me and then I roll over and squish him.
So after the third night of jumping into my bed I decided it was time to let my new friend go. I appreciated the stalking and the love but I could see this ending very badly.
Because my friend was so beautiful I had to share him with you. (Now kids don't repeat anything I have said in this blog. Not everyone can be a Spider Whisperer.)

The Blue Box

I can hardly believe that it has taken me so long to figure out what I am really meant to be doing with my life.
Like all great mysteries it took me a while to figure it out but now that I have the answer I need, I can start on an action plan.
I must admit that I should have been more aware of it when I came home from school and watched Tom Baker in his scarf but I guess I was no different to David Tennant also coming home from school and watching Tom Baker and look at him now. He actually became the Doctor.
So what am I on about? Please pay attention and keep up, as this is going to be such a wild ride. You see I have a TARDIS to find and then the Doctor himself. I am hoping the Doctor I find I am attracted to, as it would be boring to be the Doctor's companion and not want to pash him on every planet we visit.
I might have to get over to Great Britain as my first move, as that is where all good companions live. I think next step will be to find a Darlek, as where ever there is a Darlek there is a Doctor.
Next problem may be that Doctor may already have a companion but I can surely bribe a Darlek to exterminate if need be.
Then life will be great. I can visit planets as I travel through time. Telling any alien who will listen that they must try pizza if it is the only thing they do on planet Earth and because pizza never fails I will be loved all around the universe. Through pizza we may even have Universe Peace.
Then the Doctor and I can retire and live happily ever after.
The TARDIS is so big I can even get a horse.

Halloween

One upon a time, a long long time ago a little girl called Paula sat down and watched a film that had been taped on her families Betamax machine.
The little girl sat and watched the whole film through, not understanding that this film would change her life forever.
No matter how much she wanted to look away she could not. No matter how much she knew that she was too young to watch this film she still watched it until the end.
A new icon would come into Paula's life and with him a soundtrack that would haunt Paula every time she heard it.
His name was Michael Myers.
Now years later another film star would come into the picture with an almost identical name: Mike Myers. Yet this film star was funny and had no problem farting his way into roles such a Fat Bastard.
No, Paula was not fearful of farting and Fat Bastard but kitchen knives, navy blue King Gee overalls and a mask that once looked like Captain Kirk.
Every Halloween Paula knows that Michael Myers comes out to play. He never dies and seems to be able to walk through walls. No matter how fast you run, he can get you. No matter where you hide he knows where you are.
Paula is not entirely sure if she may or may not be related to Michael Myers (one never knows these things even if they have seen their birth certificate) and Michael Myers is always looking for his relatives to slice and dice. Even if you are not a relative you may just be in the way. So leading up to Halloween there are some very strict rules:

Don't leave the house.
Don't stay in the house.
Don't walk in the street.
Don't get in your car.
Don't look out of the window.
Don't babysit.
Don't have your boyfriend around.
Definitely don't have sex.
Don't get into spas that will burn your face off.
Don't hang around Dr Loomis.
Don't hang around Jamie Lee Curtis.
Don't wear white nighties.

Let's face it you can't do anything...so just play dead (in a coffin may even be wise) and wait for Halloween to come and go.
Paula has been following these strict instructions since she was 12 and so far so good. (She has also had three missing person's reports taken out on her but clearly worth it.)
Then just when Paula thought it was safe to watch another film on her Betamax, little did she know that this film would also change her life forever.
Lucky the rules were simple.
Don't go into the water.
And she never did again.

We're gonna need a...

Right. So decided that today something new and exciting needed to happen.
I wondered what it would be like to live in a movie and if so what character I would be. Well I would still be me but what would it be like if I was playing me? The temptation of course is to jump to the end of the film where I live happily ever after but that would be too predicable.
Instead I decided to re-enact the next best thing:
The Montage.
All the cool stuff happens in a montage. You lose weight, you get a new job, you paint walls, there is lots of laughing and water fights and all in the space of minutes. Then the montage finishes and you come out the other side ready to "get" your happy ending.
If a normal montage takes minutes then surely I can do my whole montage in a day.
Great start. Laughing heartily with cute guy making my morning coffee, opening up shop where I work and pumped up the music. Danced to music as I set up, imagining that song was theme track for montage scene. Greeted customers with big smile. Laughed. Cuddled children. Was having a blast.
Weight was coming off. Walls were already painted. I had a job. All I needed was a water fight. Maybe I wasn't clear on the brief as one of the words got mixed up.
In my happy montage state I had made a small error and gave a customer the wrong product. He came back and was VERY upset by my mistake. I apologised. He yelled.
I was starting to get confused. I don't remember bad stuff happening in montages.
Then I thought maybe this is where my Prince comes and saves me. Had to be. Because in my montage I only want fun stuff.
So then my customer says to me, "You are so lucky you are not a guy or I would punch you out."
Hello? Any day now Prince.
No?
Dead air ensued.
So I looked into the face of a 70 year old cranky pants who wants to punch me because he had to come back (god forbid!) and I did what any montage film star would do.
I cried.
Slight distortion on montage brief with water fight turning into water works.
Oh well. Montage done. Well almost.
Will dance to Britney in cute little panties and sing into my hairbrush in front of the mirror before bed. That would end montage nicely (especially given that this is a movie and my Prince will be watching through window whilst realising he must have me.)
Okay so happy ending now please.
(Pretty please with vanilla ice-cream and sprinkles on top?)

Feeling Blue

Growing up with red hair and freckles isn't exactly a bundle of laughs.
I grew up in the era of "baking yourself in the sun to get a tan was cool". I couldn't get a tan to save my life. Sure I could go a bright shade of pink, even red, then my skin would shed itself like a snakes only to reveal the same ultra white with freckle wallpaper all over my body.
Someone told me if I lay in the sun long enough all my freckles would join together and I would have skin like a super model (I was also growing up in the era that that term was coined and Cindy Crawford was who you wanted to be when you grew up). Needless to say my freckles didn't join up. Sure I got a hell of a lot more freckles than I had before and no doubt a heavy dose of skin cancer but unfortunately none of them seemed to want to hold hands and come together.
Tan lines were something I would have put on my vision board (alas this was not the era of The Secret).
Pippi Longstocking was my bible but because she had super strength and a cool horse I decided that Pippi would never get teased about her looks and even if she did she would beat them up. Oh to be Pippi.
If only I had Lindsay Lohan (early years) to look up to but by the time I watched Mean Girls I was too old and crusty to care. Gone were the days of wearing clothes from under my chin to my big toe to cover my revolting skin.
Now before I continue I must confess something, you see I am not really a red head. I actually have mousey brown hair that I have been dying every colour known to man since I could say "Mamma".
Now it took me a long time to discover that red hair was in fact cool and it did in fact suit me and I could in fact be like Pippi Longstocking because eating pizza did give me super strength and I went on trail rides on the weekend. And as for my freckles they were there and they were like my multiple personalities - they weren't going anywhere anytime soon.
So I am work one day I serve a little girl and her Mum. The little girl is whispering to her Mum furiously until her Mum says, "Well just ask her."
"Ask me what Honey?" I say.
The girl is shy and says nothing. She would be no more than seven years old.
So her Mum speaks for her. "She wants to know if you like your hair?"
I had just chopped most of it off and wasn't sure about the new cut but looking at the girl I realise not only do we have exactly the same hairstyle but exactly the same colour. This girl could have been my daughter.
"Yes of course I love my hair. Why don't you?" I ask the girl.
She looks up at me with tears starting to well up in her eyes. "No. I hate my hair and I hate my skin. Everyone teases me. Do you have that problem? Do you have friends?"
The girl is in tears and all of my childhood floods back like I have peed myself.
"Let me tell you something," I say. "I love my hair so much. You know why? Because we are unique, there is hardly anyone like us out there and that makes us cool. The only reason people make us feel bad about our hair is because they are jealous they can't be as cool as us. Instead they have boring coloured hair like brown or blonde. Imagine that? Imagine being boring!"
The girl looks at me through her tears and whispers, "Really?"
"Really. Just remember anytime someone picks on you about your hair it is because they wish they could be as cool as you and not be so boring. Don't get upset, just be happy that you know their secret."
The girl's pink face lights up and she says to me, "You are so pretty - do you think I will look like you when I am older?"
"You already look exactly like me. So you already are pretty."
Her Mum gives me a hug and says that no one has been able to talk to her about this and she thanks me profusely. The girl is all smiles and my heart breaks for her.
Didn't have the heart to tell her or her Mum (who has brown hair) that I actually pay good money to have my hair this colour just so I can't be boring.
Regardless, Pippi would be proud and I am sure she wouldn't mind if my next book is called Paula Longstocking.

Every Day

Everyday someone gets married but that doesn't mean they are in love.
Everyday someone gets divorced but that doesn't mean that that is their choice.
Everyday someone becomes pregnant but it doesn't mean they can make someone love them.
Everyday someone becomes a parent but it doesn't make them a family.
Everyday someone becomes rich but it doesn't make them happy.
Everyday someone cries but it doesn't mean they are sad.
Everyday someone dies but that doesn't mean they are dead.
Everyday someone makes us smile and sometimes that is enough.

Robots 101

Apparently I am "good with children". In my life that could mean anything.
"Thanks for coming to our wedding! Because you don't have a date and you are so good with children we have put you on the kiddie table. The kids are going to love you!"
"Oh why do you have to leave the BBQ so early? It has been great having you look after all 20 of our kids while us parents have been getting trashed. You are soooo good with children."
"Because you are so good with children Angelina Jolie would like your phone number."
The funny thing is that I am good with children. Probably because I relate to them more than most adults and they serve as my scapegoat at social functions. At least if I am running around with kids or sitting at the kiddie table no one seems to notice that I have rocked up alone and usually the only one to do so. I would much prefer to hear, "Wow you are so good with kids" than..."So why are you almost in a retirement home and still don't have a boyfriend?"
So when my bestie calls and says she has a job for me that involves looking after kids all day and building robots, I get very excited.
All the parents are bringing their kids in to see where they work and I have the station called: How to build a Robot.
I have five different groups of kids, ages ranging from 4 to 16.
The teenagers are my hardest audience, as building robots out of duplo blocks is not exactly "cool". I have an hour with these kids and after 10 minutes they are done. All eyes are on me as I wonder what to do for the next 50 minutes. Needless to say it resulted in me making an ass out of myself as the kids taught me dance moves such as the sprinkler and dared me to do the splits (which I did and freaked them all out when I could actually do it -even though I am very old!)
Younger ones were much more impressed, as I take my building robots very seriously. The kids had to come up with names for their robots plus pass a gruelling Q&A with me about facts on their robots such as what kind of weapons they have, where was the robot born, who are its enemies and of course what was the robots weakness. The kids had some great answers.
One of my fav's was when asked if their robot was good or bad the child replied, "Well it is both. At night it is bad and at day it is good. But when the sun is coming up or down it can't decide as it can either be angry or happy. A bit like my Mum really."
Lots of fun!
"Thanks Paula. Kids had a great day. Did anyone ever tell you before that you are so good with children?"
That's great. Now if only I could be as good at dating as I am with kids.
Could always build my own robot and call him: Husband. He was born in Spain, weapons are oven mitts for pulling out pizza from oven and his one weakness is me.
Might just upgrade me from the kiddie table.

Aliens

Quiet one on Saturday night. Excited for my new book and happy to be in pyjamas and warm and cosy in bed. Yet my days of the home invasion are not done.
It is about 12:30am, the wind is blowing like you wouldn't believe and I am up to Chapter Five where the girl is being attacked by a group of guys.
I think my mind is playing tricks on me when I hear that group of guys not just in my head but in my house!
"Hello, is anyone home?" I hear someone call, as I sit in my bed wondering if I should pull out my baseball bat that lives under it or just poo my pants.
I do neither and instead go down and greet my new guests. There are four of them and they look drunk. They are now standing in my lounge room looking like they own the place.
"Hi guys can I help you?" I think being polite is a good way to start.
"Yeah your door was wide open so we thought we would come and say hello." This guy is looking through my cupboard and pulls out a bag of chips. I wonder how long these guys are staying.
"Well, thanks for dropping by but I am going to sleep now. You are welcome to take the chips though."
They all look a tad confused, like something isn't right, but soon I am escorting them down to the front door - that is just as they said: wide open.
My visitors are gone and I send them out into the wild wind (and turns out the party a few doors up).
After getting up five more times, as my front door continues to blow open all night, I decide I have had enough and stack a huge barricade of boxes, with DVD's of my documentary inside, in front of the door.
Night ends with a sleeping bag and mini camping trip behind door all night.
And yes I think at some point there I did poo my pants (just a little bit).

At first sight

I had a customer come into the store today and told me he loved my hair. It was the same colour as his wife's he said. They had been married for 46 years and then she had been taken away from him. He said I reminded him of her and showed me her photo. It was taken the day after they met and two weeks later he asked her to marry him.
He looked me in the eye and said, "You should believe in love at first sight because it is real."
I said, "I know because it happened to me. I just didn't get the 46 years that followed."
We both looked at each other and wondered who had suffered the greater loss.

Nada

Sometimes there are no words for how you feel and sometimes you haven't nothing left to give. 

Sometimes holidays from yourself would be good.

For those times it is okay to just eat pizza.

Paula says.

A moment of silence

We are all busy. There is not enough time in the day. Washing the dishes is enough to cause a panic attack with no "time" to wash them. Work is a priority. Family is a burden. Friends demand too much time. Life really is a bitch.
Then in the blink of an eye, someone is gone. They will never be back. Not to burden you or demand any of your time. Funnily enough you want them back no matter how much of a burden.
Maybe that person that is gone is you. Looking from above wondering, "What if?" Or, "Why didn't I do that while I had the chance?" "Why did I give so much weight to the dishes or the housework or taking out the garbage?"
If you are reading this then you are still here. You still have a chance. Forgive someone. Tell someone you love them. Take a risk. Don't even have one regret if you are the one looking down.
I remember watching an interview with a lady in her sixties and she was asked if she had any advice for the younger generation. Her answer, "All I know is that the day I lie dying I don't want the last thing I think of to be, geez I wish I had eaten that doughnut!"
So eat that doughnut. Or the metaphor that applies to you. And even if that metaphor isn't eating a doughnut, eat one anyway. Then do what you need to do and whatever you do...
Don't wait until tomorrow. You may be a day too late.

(This post is dedicated to not only the ones we have lost but also the ones that still remain.)

Burglar Blues

There's only one thing worse than coming home and finding your door wide open and that is coming home and it wasn't in the spot you left it in. Lucky for me it was the former I came home to.
Really annoying knowing you have been robbed. Really, really, really annoying being robbed three times in last three years. If only I was this popular in dating world and I would have a Prince in no time! Might get some camera surveillance for my house just in case I am missing some hotties who have been coming to visit.
So there I am at wide open door and I have been clearly broken into. Walk into first room and everything in tact. Walk into second room and again everything in tact and nothing taken. I am not only confused but very nervous as I wonder why someone has broken in but so far hasn't taken anything. I am too afraid to go to next level of house as figure my "visitors" must be staying for a cup of tea.
Had to get neighbours to help me look and was very happy when no killers jumped out of my washing machine.
Alarm sensor must have deterred them. That or my photo from high school near the front door. My hair was very scary.
Best part of night was when police arrived. Three of them. All young, all gorgeous. Seemed too good to be true. As they took photos and fingers prints I began to wonder if maybe they were strippers and my friends were playing a trick on me. Put song YMCA on the stereo and waited for the show to begin. Was disappointed when no clothes came off. Even pulled a few singles out for encouragement. Instead got a police report and warning for trying to bribe an officer.
Was worth a shot.

Crusty Bits

Having this 6 to 12 disease is exhausting. Trying to fit everything in before the disease takes hold is just becoming too difficult.
Kind of defeats purpose of having stupid disease in first place if I don't have time to spend "rest" of life with Prince. Right now if Prince came riding up and awoke me from slumber of stress and sleep in my eyes I would have to roll over and say I have a headache.
Must rethink what is priority and create more space in brain for the important things.
Definite priority is watching latest Predators film when comes out. Almost had multiples in cinema chair when I saw the preview. Firstly...hello...Predator film...brilliant! Secondly, premise is hunting humans for sport and thirdly, guess who is starring in film? Yes that's right! My pashing partner in crime Adrien Brody. Feel sorry for whoever comes with me to film as I will be panting and hyperventilating and re-enacting Meg Ryan's scene from When Harry Met Sally.
It must be clear now why life is so stressful with thoughts like these running through my...um...head.

Scrambled Eggs

The decision to attend a party is always going to go one of two ways. The first is a night of tedium and rolling eyes (mine) with people that are dull and mind numbing and as soon as 10pm hits it is officially time to exit stage left and still be polite.
Then there are the parties that are unexpected surprises. The other kind of party. Usually the one that you have to drag yourself to in the first place because your pyjamas are calling.
This weekend held one of those such parties.
I arrived late, only because the drive was like going on a road trip and as such stops at fast food places are a must. Plus, I got lost a few times and considered turning back around and having a hot date with my pyjamas who love me unconditionally.
Was strong and finally made it to party. Arrived at time of speeches, but was a good thing as no one knew I was late, and low and behold the bar was right were I had to come in. With red wine in hand felt suddenly fabulous. Plus noticed that incredibly good looking man was also by my side and keeps glancing across at me (thank god I am a woman and my peripheral vision is brilliant). Pyjamas are suddenly forgotten.
With speeches over it was time to make way to awaiting friends and let the night begin. Turns out cute boy at bar was in fact gay (yes I asked) but is interested in having a baby, so would I perhaps like to be the surrogate? Can't seem to remember what I agreed to, so may be preggers soon. Did ask him what he was looking at at the bar when I came in if he was gay and apparently I have fabulous breasts and that yes gay men like breasts. Non gay man is standing nearby and agrees with breast statement and I realise that suddenly it is okay for all eyes to be on my breasts. Non gay man tells me he is dating and woman expert, so I ask him where his girlfriend is. None exists. I should be grateful as means I can now "have him" but I actually would rather "have" gay man at this point.
About to head home when I start talking to lovely young man and all I can do is think about him kissing me.
Yet all I do is leave.
Good news is didn't make an ass of myself and am without child. Thumbs up for me!

La Di Da

So far impact of "6 to 12 disease" has been minimal but enlightening.
Short hair making me feel very powerful indeed, so much so that put Wonder Woman outfit on and went out on streets looking for villains. Was also hoping Flash would appear and flirt outrageously with me like he does on Justice League but was obviously busy with his own villains (or has moved on from me because I was such a cock tease and clearly in love with Superman).
Officially starting on new novel today. Feel excited about new adventure I am about to embark on with crazy twins that keep taking up my head space.
Must get publisher for first novel ASAP with only twelve months to live. Then  have to appear on Oprah and make movie with Drew Barrymore. (Might have to extend deadline of disease if I can't fit this all in.) Surely I can fit in pashing Adrien Brody somewhere there as well. Will ask Oprah to arrange or maybe Ellen. Maybe can have bidding war over who wants exclusive pash for their show. Adrien is going to be so excited when he hears the news.
Need to write fabulous article for Cleo or Cosmopolitan magazine to prove I am serious about writing career. See no reason I can't do that. I have enough disastrous dating experience to fill a whole magazine and happy to create survey's along lines of "Will your Prince ever come back?"
So far it is not looking so good for me as got all D's on my survey which means:
"Unfortunately Prince is just not that into you. He still thinks you are a stalker and obsessed crazed psycho and likelihood of that changing is only if he hits his head in bike riding accident and has amnesia. Take down shrine and picture wall immediately and join a convent for good measure. Stalking is frowned upon as a Nun but you will still look fabulous wearing black. So win-win all round."
Will let you know when said survey appears in print.
Big day ahead now with having to pull down shrine as part of to-do list.

6 to 12

Something I say all the time is, "Life is too short for tomorrow". I like the saying and most of the time I try and live by it. So I got to thinking...

What if I was told I only had six to twelve months to live? What would I do and what would I change?

So I have officially self diagnosed myself with a disease called "six to twelve". 

I have a maximum of twelve months to turn my life around.

Gotta be better than just existing.

If nothing has changed after twelve months then off to Afghanistan I go.

Had no idea where to start when worked out I was "dying" of 6 to 12. I did google disease and looked up as many medical websites as possible for symptoms and cures but so far no luck. I am clearly suffering from very rare disease.

With no hope of a cure I look to my next twelve months with gusto.

First step chopping off all my hair. Not sure that is life altering but felt like it needed doing. 

Hoping that I will be the reverse of Samson and with no hair have amazing strength.

That's as good as I have gotten so far.

White Wedding

Watched Muriel's Wedding again the other night, and whilst don't really want to be Muriel when I grow up, it did get me to thinking.

Maybe I am going about this idea of finding my Prince all wrong. Maybe if "I try it on: he will come". Seems like a very sane and practical idea.

So given it was mid week figured there would be no problem with just turning up for dress shopping. Plan worked. I was welcomed with open arms and only blushing bride in the store. In fact four stores in all.

I said my name was Toni (well I couldn't say Muriel could I?) I was getting married in the spring of next year and my man's nickname was PC (said it was because he was computer nerd but we know the real meaning!) 

I felt like a Princess, well that was until I had to try them on. Felt like I was in battle. Dresses wanted to torture me with corsets, petticoats and thousands of laces. Big boobs constantly got in the way and need stern talking to if they are to attend the wedding. I don't want any Janet Jackson moments. Ladies in store didn't seem worried, apparently once strapped in dress there is no chance of popping out (or breathing).

Question is how on earth is my husband expected to get me out of the dress on wedding night when I can't even follow the directions?

Imagining two of us sitting on edge of bed looking defeated and wondering if it was a sign that maybe it wasn't meant to be. Must remember to buy a white clutch bag that is big enough to fit scissors. 

Couldn't quite make an album of all dresses I tried on, like Muriel, (copyright blah blah blah) so have nothing to show for experience.

Actually not entirely true. Have dress in cupboard now.

Buy it and he will come.

Sleep walking

Have decided worst part of day is trying to get to sleep. Best part of day is getting up and having first coffee for day.
Why is it that when it is dark, I am tired and my bed is so comfy that all I seem to do is toss and turn and think about the fact that one day I will be dead? It is a very interesting time of day to be sure. Like my day wasn't quite good enough and so as a reminder that little voice (probably my Cabbage Patch dolls who have turned into Chucky) say to me, "You do know Paula that one day soon you will be dead. So what have you done that is so great lately? Has your life been good enough? Have you eaten enough pizza lately?"
As you can see it is quite a stressful time going to bed. Who wants to be confronted with the thought of the Grim Reaper every night? Maybe if I play Trivial Pursuit with him (think Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey) and hopefully land on all the pink questions I could cheat death or I could play Balderdash. There is NO way that Death is a bigger bullshitter than me. No way!
Rightio. Feel better now that I have a plan. Maybe I need to make a list to go with my plan...
List so far:
Memorise Trivial Pursuit questions and answers.
Eat more pizza.
Get a life.

Home Abounds

Home again and back to life as we know it. Not sure what life entails from here on in but ready for something fun and exciting to happen.
Given that Prince has not arrived, have to create next adventure for myself (most tiresome....why do men have to take so long?!)
So must make up for men being so scared and distract myself. It is called a "look over here" plan.
Things so far on "look over here" plan are:

Going to Afghanistan to have stern words to Taliban.
Trek around Nepal.
Buy new house with backyard big enough for new horse.
Go to Spain, drink wine and fall in lust with any number of Spanish men.
Stalk Oprah until she puts my book on her show.
Eat pizza until I explode.

Yes it is a tough call as to which adventure I choose first and guessing I will have to do them all to give Prince "time".
Maybe then I won't have to "look over there" and get exactly what I want.
Right. First things first.
Must order lots and lots of pizza...

I heart San Fran.

Goodbye Disneyland. Hello San Francisco.
Main fear was losing my heart in San Francisco but then realised that didn't have much of my heart left to lose. Once that was realised I  stopped wearing protective chest armour in streets.
Days and nights in San Fran have consisted of two activities. Shopping and eating. Yes, very stressful indeed. Shopping not one of favourite past times but eating is, so have been willing to compromise. Two food groups have been on the menu. Pizza (obvious) and hot fudge sundaes. Hot fudge sundaes eaten to date: 7. Those suckers are huge! Reality of eating so many sundaes is not being able to fit into clothes. Lucky shopping is on the agenda or I would have nothing to wear. Actually that is not true, Wonder Woman pyjamas still fit so could easily wear those. Combine pyjamas with Minnie Mouse ears from Disneyland and I could easily be mistaken for one of hundreds of homeless folk asking for money. Tried counting people asking me for money today but lost track after lunch. That or I got confused with number of Americans saying "Super!" I really must stop making up reasons to stress myself out.
Brother has proven he is legendary in all things shopping and not quite sure how we will be allowed onto plane with so many Macy's bags. No doubt I will have to sleep with someone from the the airline to waive excess luggage. Am surprisingly happy to take this for the team.
Big news is Mr Bean is currently staying in our hotel. I haven't seen him myself but figure he can't be too hard to find. Only twenty floors in hotel. Getting good at saying "Room Service" in American accent.

LA Riots

That's right it is Holiday O'clock!
Flight time: 24 hours. Arrival time into LA: 6am. Hours to stay awake before being able to sleep or jet lag will ensue: 15. Blood shot eyes: Two. Feeling like crap: Not priceless.
Use time wisely by making many schedules and lists, for impending stay, and drive Mother and Brother crazy with need for military precision for every days events. I love a tight schedule and without one get very stressed. Yes, realise this is a holiday but I don't care and am proud of anal retentiveness (someone out there will love me for it. Won't they?)
Mother, Brother and I make it until 4pm and finally get to bed. Plan is to wake at 7am and head off to Disneyland. No sooner than bloodshot eyes are shut and Brother is saying "Morning!" Look at clock and realise it is 7am already. Know there is no possible way I have been asleep for 15 hours. I alert Brother that in fact it is 7pm! Great start to holiday.
Disneyland next day turned out exactly as I had planned. Not surprisingly as had map planned and timed right down to when we would be thirsty. Am feeling fabulous with stress free day due to perfect planning and map memorising. Mother and Brother seemed stressed by fact that toilet breaks were not at times they would have liked but I did brief them over breakfast so totally their own fault for lack of discipline.
Only glitch was getting photo with favourite Disney Princess (Snow White). Princesses no longer roam streets of Disneyland and instead have own photo area. Line up time: 2.5 hours. Snow White picture is on schedule so must be taken. Finally make it to Princess area and realise that there are only three Princesses inside and there is no Snow White. Line up again (after taking sneak peak and seeing Snow White inside. Yay!) Only line takes so long that when we get through it is the same bloody Princesses as before!
Four hours later and finally get to meet Snow White. Totally worth it. She is so pretty. Ask her if she knows a Prince I once dated called Booger Brains. She hasn't. I tell her she is lucky there are no such things as bike riding where she comes from as maybe it wouldn't have worked out with her and Prince Charming. Ask her if Prince Charming has any cute friends that she can hook me up with.
Suddenly am being escorted from Princess area and yell at Snow White that I will try and come back to finish our chat. Line up again but am told that Snow White is finished for the day. I am followed by security for rest of the day.
Get home and am excited for Snow White photo. Realise Brother must be still asleep as both of our heads are cut off.
No problem. We have a three day pass...

Head Banging

Easter. A time for chocolate and family. Or if, like me, you are single then a time for working and waiting for the long weekend to be over. Holidays are just rude reminders of not having family of own (insert violins here). Saw movie once where Ben Affleck hired family to share holiday with...might look into that so I can get lots of chocolate in future (no one should have to buy their own Easter eggs!)
Did happen to meet a cute man though. Was all tucked up in bed, reading about the rain in Spain and then there was an almighty crash. I looked out of my third-storey window to see a man lying beside his motorbike after slamming into the side of my house.
After calling out and asking him if he was my new Prince, I realised that he was not in any position to confess undying love with blood pouring out of his head, so ran downstairs in pj's and went to assess damage (and check his star sign).
Poor fellow was in a bad way and soon pj's went from white to red as I tried to clean him up. Ambulance on the way but time to "get to know each other". (It is important not to waste any opportunity.) Told him he would have a great scar from accident and scars are very sexy. Apparently I am very funny (or maybe he was concussed) either way I was happy to take compliment.
Ambulance arrived and off he went.
I wonder if dating has really become this hard that men have to crash in side of house for me to meet them?

Get thee to a Nunnery

So went and had my bimonthly therapy session yesterday. Therapy = Tarot Card reading.
Cheaper and more fun than real therapy and I get to hear about my future. Therapy = Awesome.
Session started with palm reading and although my hands are very small they are apparently a palm readers nightmare. Given I am both a Water and Fire hand, it makes for lots of internal dramas and conflicts. Now this I already knew.
Wonder if I chop my hand off if everything will right itself in my life? At least I now have something to blame my erratic behaviour on. "Talk to the hand" takes on a whole new meaning now.
Got to tarot reading and as much as we tried we couldn't find a man in my path. Suddenly had visions of me and lots of cats. The good news is that career is about to sky rocket and apparently I will be surrounded my millions of dollars soon and be winning awards. I asked if Adrien Brody was presenting any of those awards, so would have an excuse to pash him, but just got blank stare. I don't think there is a tarot card that represents Adrien Brody.
The only way success will be forthcoming is by not engaging in any romantic activities for at least a year! Then out of the blue will come my Prince (Adrien Brody) and all will be right with the world. Although figure if I have millions of dollars quite a few Princes will appear out of the blue, but having said that could pay Adrien Brody to be my boyfriend with millions. That wouldn't be weird would it? If it is then "talk to the hand".
Now just have to find a chastity belt for next twelve months. Figure eBay is best bet.

Doing Nothing

Don't you hate it when you aren't in control? When you feel like you have lost all the power in a situation and you have no way of gaining it back?

Clearly that is how I am feeling because I am talking about it today (and we all know how selfish I am when it comes to blog topics!)

So here's the deal. I like to be in control of everything. I like making a plan and then making it happen. I don't talk: I do. Now, this is all very well and good when it comes to most things but in relationships another person is involved and so my plan isn't always their plan. It makes for fun viewing if you happen to be that fly that lives on the wall that we all wish we could be.

So what I have to realise is that when things aren't going to my plan, wish list, vision board, photo wall, shrine or billboard that there is no need to panic. Maybe this is actually the plan. For me to take a step back and let things happen of their own accord. That's right folks suddenly the super obsessive, anal retentive, control freak (me) has to sit there and do NOTHING! (I am having a minor breakdown as I write this because doing nothing wasn't actually in my vocabulary before this blog.)

Decided doing nothing looks a little like this: buy as many canned goods as possible as if I am "going to the mattresses," buy all seasons of Gilmore Girls for distraction and get subscription to wine delivery so don't have to leave house. Doing nothing actually sounds like fun.

Feel great now that Universe is in "charge" of next stage of life and the adventures of Paula. Now Universe can I just make some small requests? If I can just pick the genre of my next adventure that would be lovely. My fav's are horror's, thrillers, disaster flicks, anything with killer sharks in it, horses would also be good, romantic comedies are just silly, Adrien Brody can make an appearance, can it be set in the time of Jack the Ripper so I can find out who he was...

Sorry? 

What's that? 

I am being controlling? 

Now listen here Universe if this is going to work out you are going to have to listen to me. 

Where are you going? 

Don't walk out on me!

New Day

Just sitting here wondering what the day will bring. Maybe today will be the day where something new and exciting happens. Maybe today will be my 'one second rule'.
Maybe today will be like that for someone else. If you could have one thing happen today that you really wanted, what would it be? Could today be the day?
I sound like I am on Oprah, it is true, but for good reason - plan is to be on Oprah before she retires. Not sure how that is going to eventuate but it is on my vision board and therefore must come true. Be great if I was also on the show with Adrien Brody and he wanted to re-enact kiss with Halle Berry at Academy Awards. I would most happily oblige all in the name of being a good guest on Oprah. (Maybe Adrien will fall madly in love with me after kiss and become my Prince...better check his star sign to make sure we are compatible before accepting proposal.)
Now, not quite sure if all of this will happen today but figure I can always put Adrien Brody film on and kiss TV and get a life size cardboard cut out of Oprah and she can join me on the couch and tell me I am having a 'lightbulb moment'.
Looks like dreams do come true!
Hope it is a one second kind of day for you all too...

Back to the Drawing Board

Okay so after a few days of being 'live' and available on the worldwide web I have to say it is not for me. Now don't get me wrong, after I actually got my questionnaire right and my matches were actually matches, it seemed all systems go.
Lots of matches, lots of lovely men, the 'getting to know you' process was simple and not overwhelming and yet there was just something missing...
I think the real problem is me. I am not ready for a Prince just yet. It was nice to put it out there but if I am going to go on dates with men who want to get married and have kids then I should be serious about that. Suddenly feel very grown up.
Reality is that heart is still healing and not ready for anything new right now. Yes we had a 'heart to mouth' conversation last night and the verdict was in: a new scenario is to be created.
Heart, mouth and I brainstormed all night and came up with the best way to meet Prince and give heart time to heal.
Getting carpenters in today to build top level balcony, plan to grow hair very long (or get extensions or maybe even rope). Will sing "One Day my Prince will come" all day long while knitting (back up for hair plan if extensions or rope don't work) and wait for my Prince to rescue me from self-created hell.
I am so clever. This is a much better idea than internet dating.
As well as knitting may write Dating Advice book for woman. Genius.

Doing the Timewarp

Okay, so looking for Prince is not as easy I thought.
Went to work and rather than saying, "Have a nice day!" I said, "So are you single?" Didn't seem to go too well and boss gave me a talking to.
Back to drawing board or more like back to something I have been putting off since its inception...internet dating.
Never been a big fan. Never really understood it ( and still don't!) Yet for millions of people around the world it is the only way they date.
So have decided to get with the times and jump online.
First decision: which dating site to go with. Too many for my liking and almost talked myself out of it at this point.
Finally decided on site that seemed to be tailored to finding your compatible match rather than any Tom, Dick or Harry being able to get in touch with you. (Although truth be told if Tom, Dick or Harry are cute and ride black stallion then please call me.)
Took me over an hour to fill out my questionnaire about myself. Felt like I was back at school and I wondered if I could fail my own questionnaire? Lucky they had sample answers and they seemed pretty good, so went with those - not sure if that would classify as cheating but this is very serious business and don't want to make any mistakes.
Second decision: choosing photos. Oh dear, this is quite stressful. Finding Prince relies on good photo. Found great one of me ten years ago looking young and fabulous. Perfect!
Signed up and opened bottle of red wine and waited for Princes to arrive into my inbox. How fabulous that I don't even have to get out of my pyjamas to date. Suddenly get appeal of dating over internet!
Matches started arriving in quick succession (I am like sooooo popular!)
Start looking at profiles and think there must be a mistake. All matches are over 50, have three children or more, smoke and drink many times a day.
Oh dear. Wonder where I went wrong, then realise cheating on questionnaire has consequences.
Damn!
Have to redo questionnaire, but am pleased that have now drunk whole bottle of wine, so surely answers will be much better this time!

The Quest Begins

Okay so search for Prince begins. Not sure what I am looking for or how Prince will suddenly appear but if I am going to be honest I would say riding up on a big black stallion would be enough for me to accept marriage instantly.
Think of all possible ways to meet new Prince and start by looking up all horse riding schools and seeing if any single guys are riding black horses. It was a big fail but was told I could bring something to pin up on notice board. Not quite sure if they understood my request, as can't imagine me posting note that has "Single Girl seeks Single Guy. Must ride black stallion and be a Prince of some kind." Then Prince's can rip off my phone number and give me a call. Maybe I should be age specific on notice, as imagine there are many boys or teenagers who think they are Prince's and own black horse (although being a cougar sounds fun).
Thought of asking friends to set me up but realise they haven't done that in all of my single years, so maybe I am not "setting up" material (wonder if big butt has anything to do with this? Must work on first impression skills with big butt today).
Might trawl the bars this weekend, although the thought of that makes me sick and honestly who could be bothered. Real problem will be me making fool of myself as I drink too much red wine, spilling most of it on cleavage revealing top and big butt will want to make a special appearance and do a dance and for some reason big butt only likes dancing on tables. Never know though, maybe there are some Prince's who may like that kind of confidence.
Thinking next step is at work put on name badge "Hi my name is Paula, I am single, like pizza and marathons and am available to nice single Prince."
Not too desperate at all.

Cool Runnings

Yesterday was the infamous marathon and I must say that I felt very sad about not being there. It came as a surprise that I actually wanted to do the marathon and even big butt was feeling blue.

I realise that I didn't have to be so melodramatic about not being able to do the marathon and break up with you but don't we always break up with someone at all the wrong moments?

Now I wasn't clear on why I couldn't do the marathon - I blame it on the break up - and it is not very exciting at all...you see I got a new job and I was rostered on to work and couldn't get out of it. Should have probably created a much better reason for you all huh? Guess I am out of juice.

So here I am saying that I am officially back. I will continue to train (torturing big butt more to the point) and will continue to rant on about my life.

The next plan is to get my book published, so now that we are back together if you could help me with this process that would be great.

I also plan to find a new Prince. That should keep us all amused for many blogs to come.

Time to get action plan into place.

First step...

Get out of pyjamas. (Why I am not sure, just seems like a good start!)

 

The End of the Affair

Dear Reader,
It is with a heavy heart and lack of words that I have to tell you something. Let me start by saying it is not you, it is me. We have had a great relationship and have so much in common yet I just can't give you what you want.
Now please don't get upset, I am not breaking up with you completely and of course I want to remain "friends". It is just that the way we are headed with our relationship is not what I had in mind and therefore things must change. Again let me say it is not you, it is all me!
Work has become a priority and as such I have had to let a few things go and one of those things is the marathon and my relationship to you. If you just give me some time I am sure I will be able to change and make myself into the person you want me to be and in the mean time I hope we can still remain friends.
We will all still be here (big butt included) and one day I hope I can give you what you want, which is me doing my marathon, but for now I just can't commit to that future (plus I heard there is a great Bat Cave I need to try and find if I can find a man to give me a map).
I think you are amazing but right now you deserve someone better than me. I am sorry I can not be that person.
So even though I said we can be friends can you please give me as long as I need to process this information (may be years, so please be patient and wait for my contact...any other forms of contact will be deemed as obsession and stalking, as I dictate the rules and what is right and wrong behaviour - so if I want to contact you I am immune from all stalking charges). I hope this is clear as my "recovery" from this traumatic decision - even though the decision was mine - will take some time and all your inevitable stalking will just delay the process.
I leave you with this long kiss (and a grab on the ass - just incase you weren't confused already) and hope you can follow all the rules that I have requested and all the rules I have not requested, as I expect you to know exactly what I am thinking at all times.
Once again, I want you to know you are just amazing but I just can't give you what you want.
Always yours, Paula xx

P.S: So just to confirm you are perfect in every way, except for the fact that work has got in the way of my marathon and so I of course must blame you for that.
P.P.S: Wow suddenly feel much better now...hope you do too! :)

One Second Rule

Sometimes life gets you down. One event or a series of events can make you feel like all hope is lost. The reason I bring it up is because this is exactly how I have been feeling this week (lucky I have a blog to be self indulgent on huh?!)

Maybe it is because I haven't done much training, with starting a new job and still having the blisters from hell, or maybe because my heart got re-broken twice in one week. I have a feeling it is the latter somehow, don't you? Like no training is going to get me down!

So the question for me is not when to let go but when to give up hope. Without hope that one day, when you least expect it, you will get what you want and in that second life will change. That is all it takes, one second. We may wait a lifetime but when it happens it is instantaneous. A phone call, a knock at the door, an email or while out shopping when you look your worst and there they are...and suddenly, just like that, life falls back into place.

So what if you know that that will happen one day but you are ready RIGHT NOW! Yeah tough one huh??!! And if you thought I was here to answer that question then you are very much mistaken...all the advice I have for you is get a hobby, eat vanilla ice-cream with sprinkles (for some reason this is working for me right now!) Read a book, watch a movie and most importantly don't wait for something to happen. Live the life you want while you are waiting for the "real one" to begin, you never know what may creep up and bite you on the ass - in a good way of course!

So in my vanilla ice-cream and sprinkles coma I choose to continue to hope, even if it may mean I am delusional, and I know that one day, when I least expect it, I will get my one second and what a second it will be.

(Note to self: When this one second happens try and refrain from sticking out tongue and saying to doubting Thomas's, "Ner ner na ner ner".)

Holy Blisters, Batman!

Yeah, it is true. I have blisters. Replacement running shoes are also out to pasture and brand new expert running shoes have been purchased. Only problem is blisters are so bad from replacement running shoes there has been no training for last three days (silent cheer!)...so that must mean we get to talk about other goings on.

I will not talk about the crazy weekend that was (and guest appearance by everyone's favourite Prince) but instead I want to go "into the cave".

Men know of the cave - as they are frequent visitors - and woman know of the cave because we have to wait patiently for our men to come out.

First official recordings of the cave were not in prehistoric cave men times as might be presumed (as woman lived in these caves as well - hence why men had to hit their woman over the head - as they never had any "quiet time"). No, first official "man cave time" can be found in the Bible, where Jesus had to go to the cave for three days. His resurrection was a miracle for many reasons, one of which was he was a changed man.

Woman started putting their own men in caves for three days to see if maybe the miracle could be repeated and their men could also change and low and behold it seemed to work. Women got answers and men got a much needed break. It truly was a miracle that has kept relationships in tact for years to come.

The formula is the same in present day, except men go willingly to their cave (and in fact seem to like it more than our company half of the time) but no matter, it is now part of our world - like walking.

Sure when our men go to the cave it can be frustrating and we need answers (now!) but rest assured our men will always emerge and even with answers - it is a miracle!

In modern day, the cave has changed slightly and so instead of waiting three days we may have to wait months, even years, to get an answer (and they wonder why woman invented stalking!) The reason for the change in processing time is because the "cave" men go to is actually the Bat Cave - where Batman also goes to process and come out the other side a new man. This would explain why men need to keep going back to the cave on a regular basis, even if it is to answer a simple question like, "Would you like toast or cereal for breakfast?"

With all of those Bat Toys to play with and look at it, is no wonder the cave is a great place to be. It is also no wonder that men can spend months in there, we think they are processing when in fact they are playing with Batarangs, Bat Bombs and the Bat Goo Gun.

Ladies just leave them in there and let them play. It is the only time they get to be a super hero and let's not ruin their fun.

Didn't you always want to go and learn the tango in Argentina? (And alone is the only way to do that.) Quick. Run. Fly. Dance. You have plenty of time. The Bat mobile will keep him amused while you are looking into the eyes of your Latin dance instructor.

That way we won't seem to mind them being in the cave and we know they always come out better men and with the answers to the tough questions.

"Toast will be fine."

(Note to self: Find Poison Ivy outfit and wear next time man is in the cave. Batarangs are no match for Poison Ivy.)

Shoes that Run

A funny thing happened when I was out training (and no, it wasn't just that I was out training).

As you know, we had to put running shoes out to pasture and bring in another pair. Granted the new pair aren't brand new (I think I bought them in 1992 on special for $15 at Big W) but the great thing is that these running shoes still have their sole in tact. Unlike super keen, but over-the-hill, ex-running shoes that took "your feet need to breath" literally by letting me know, through holes, what surface I was training on. There was talk of mutiny from socks if I didn't do something about it.

So with new (well, old but useable) running shoes on, we (me, body, socks, professional sports attire and big butt - it is a huge team to get me in shape for this marathon) all set out for our 10km walk. The planets were aligning and new running shoes were fitting in with the gang quite nicely.

When we got to 5km, I had to explain to running shoes that whilst we may be doing a marathon it does not mean we have to run and training is for walking only (hence why big butt is still allowed to come or there would be richter scale readings). So in the middle of the track, running shoes decides to have a massive tanty and threatens to leave the team. None of us seem to mind too much and socks say they can pull it off alone and running shoes make them claustrophobic anyway.

Body and butt, as usual, took a break and welcomed the distraction.

So with chaos ensuing and no resolution forthcoming, I wondered if my marathon days were over.

Then it happened. A marathon miracle. We all saw her in the distance and it shut us up instantly. She was everything we wanted to be. Firstly, she was running and I could easily stop there because being able to run is a miracle. Yet that wasn't all, as she was also so fit and toned (butt ran into the bushes at this stage from shame) and had on the perfect running outfit (my attire was drooling). She had on short black running shorts, her running shoes were glowing with experience, and her long pony tail swayed perfectly from side to side as it came out of her low-key but very stylish baseball cap.

As she jogged passed us we all saw it at once. On the back of her running top was the inscription Run for the Kids 2010. She was wearing the official t-shirt of the marathon we were competing in.

Without a word, we all regrouped (almost leaving butt behind, who I knew wanted to stay in bushes) and with running shoes coaxing us along we started to run. There were no aches and pain, no resistance from anyone (look, butt is never going to be included in any of these statements but let's just pretend for now) and all in all was a great running experience.

Sure the marathon miracle girl looked around quite often, to see why we were following her, but we were not going to let her get away that easy.

(Note to self: look up Marathon Miracle Girl in white pages to start stalking process.)

Coveting the prize

We all want to win the "prize". Whatever that prize may be. It comes in many shapes and forms and we covet it because it gives us purpose and direction.

Some of us know exactly what "prizes" we want: a new job, winning the lottery, a smile from your crush or lover, fitting into skinny jeans or maybe just having a full nights sleep. It can be big or simple. Prizes are infinite. Well, all except one and this one is the most important prize of all:

You.

Now hear me out (and no I haven't been reading too many self-help books...well maybe a couple but it is not the point!)

When we covet the prize we focus all our energy and attention on getting it. It is important to us and at no stage do we want to "change" the prize because the prize is perfect. So why is us as the prize any different?

If someone wants you as their prize they will come and get you. You don't need to beg, to call, email or text (maybe even fax just in case), you don't need to start riding a bike, you don't need to tell them you love them - for the umpteenth time because maybe they didn't hear you the first time - in fact you don't need to do anything because you are the prize.

It is tough to be the prize because it involves patience and second guessing. Just remember that the prize doesn't need to change, it is "perfect" the way it is, and some people (okay let's be honest: guys) take a while to work out that "prizes" don't come around very often...if ever again.

Now, yes he (or she) may be your prize and be what you covet, so shouldn't you then go after that prize? The answer is no. You already know what you want (and that is the hard part over and done with) now you just have to wait for your prize to catch up and work out if they want to claim you as their prize. If they don't then they just missed out on the best damned prize that was ever on offer and that, my friends, is so their loss and not yours!

So today is all about being the "prize". Can't wait to see who claims you!

(This post is dedicated to all of my friends who are second guessing, doubting themselves, texting one too many time and have forgotten that they are the prize. Now put down the phone and go put a bow around yourself for when you get claimed - clothes are optional.)

Pedal Pushing

Once upon a time there was a princess called Paula. Paula fell in love with a prince called Booger Brains. It was a match made in heaven, until one day the prince told the princess that she was perfect except for one thing. The princess thought that this one thing must be major if it was to be a deal breaker. What could it possibly be?

She waited with baited breath for her one flaw to be revealed. The prince told her in the nicest way possible that she wasn't marriage material because...

"You don't like bike riding."

The princess at first thought maybe she heard wrong and laughed at his "joke". Only the prince wasn't joking. So with much confusion, a broken heart and a desire to visit her oracle (therapist) the princess walked off into the sunset alone.

As the moons came and went and time passes, the princess moves on and decides to run a marathon. With achilles tendons sore and hurting, the princess decides to change her training to give her tendons a break.

The training? A two hour BIKE RIDE!

Hmmm, maybe the princess is not the only one confused at this point?

(Note to self: if you see a prince called Booger Brains be sure to tell him to "get on his bike." Silly prince.)

Overcoming pain

There are two types of pain, in the past day, that I have taken on.

Well, I am not sure if I actively "took on" both but apparently everything happens for a reason.

I would like to start by saying I have my first official marathon injury. That means I am a real athlete! Not that having an injury is fun, by any means, but now when I catch up with "running colleagues" I too can talk about my injury. Exciting times.

Well having both of my achilles tendons hurting like buggery is actually quite painful but I figure if I give them the silent treatment and ignore their constant whingeing they will stop their tantrum. Only problem is that running shoes may have to go back to therapy after I talk to them about injury being from their age -have a feeling running shoes are too old for marathon (also have a feeling body is too old for marathon but as yet haven't found a shop to buy a new body).

When it comes to another form of pain - one that is inflicted by someone else - I figure I will treat it just like my achilles tendons. Silent treatment. Ignoring constant whingeing and cries for attention and, most importantly, recognising I don't have to put up with child like behaviour. Getting angry and throwing darts at ex's picture also helps. Definitely had my cranky pants on. Great news about pain making you angry is that you no longer seem to care about that person anymore. Could it be that instead of still being in love with two men I now only love one? Could it really be that easy? Might have to get back to you on that one because I am a woman and it is a woman's prerogative to change her mind.

(Note to self: must make friends with running colleagues to discuss - and brag about - my achilles injuries.)

VD the new STD?

So what's the deal with Valentine's Day? A form of torture or a necessary evil?

I propose that Valentine's Day should also be combined with: "Free All You Can Drink Margaritas Day." Sure it is a mouthful but with free margaritas on the table no one will be care (or remember).

That way if Valentine's Day does not quite work out the way you planned you have a very good (and preferable) option.

I am yet to find anyone who loves VD.

It is usually a lose - lose either way.

Firstly is the obvious, if you are not in a relationship. If that is the case then VD is a day to remind you of how you don't quite cut it as a desired mate and may very well end up alone FOREVER! (See, at this point margaritas would come in handy.) Who needs a day to remind you of that when you remind yourself at five minute intervals already?

Secondly, is if you are in a relationship. Now this should be easy...right? Well not always. In fact, I think VD is even worse when you are actually in a relationship and VD still lets you down. Excuses like: "VD is too commercial and is a waste of time." "We have been going out for too long to need to worry about VD." And the classic, "I don't need a day to tell you I love you." To which you reply: "Well actually you do because every other day you forget, so at the very least can you give me this one f***en day!"

Oh VD how we love you for making us feel so special and so loved.

Only I may just have to go with Door Number Two if you don't mind: Margaritas. (Now they never let you down!)

(Note to self: VD does not give you an excuse to skip training and re-enact scene from Bridget Jones's Diary where she is in pyjamas, drinking vodka and singing "All By Myself.")

Tall, Dark and Handsome

So I was 11km in (still walking, no running in sight) and I spot him.

He was very handsome there on the trail, the trail I walk every day (almost).

We both checked each other out and I swear there was a connection.

I wonder if I really need this in my life, after all I am already trying to "eternal sunshine of the spotless mind" two of my ex's and I don't need another one to mess me up further.

So we stare at each other, both of us wondering who will make the first move and I know if it his him I will get hurt (again!)

He sticks his tongue out at me and I think: how rude.

All I know is, I am not walking 11km back because he is in my way. I wonder who is braver. I decide I am and think (quietly so no one can hear me) if I do get hurt, by being brave yet again, then I won't have to do the marathon. It is such a dilemma.

I needn't have worried, just like my ex's, he scurries away like the coward he can be and no doubt to his own man cave.

Marathon still on, heart in check, no pain...maybe it is a good thing.

Wonder what kind of snake that was. Must look him up. He may come in handy if I need an exit strategy from marathon - or any of life's problems really.

(Note to self: must get his number if I see him again.)

Nipping it in the Bud

Walked 12km today, most of it in the rain. Felt fantastic afterwards but beforehand...not so much.

Apparently we have to be "careful what we wish for." Although, if I wished for a life time supply of pizza I am not sure how I could go wrong. Sure, I would not be able to move - let alone do a marathon - but like that is going to be bother me!

I digress.

My dilemma is this: what if you are desperate to hear from not one but two men you still love and all of a sudden, in the space of days, they are back?! (Now when I say "back" I mean they have come out of the man cave but are still not sure how to communicate except for a few grunts).

So I must be skipping for joy and making wedding dress appointments (and running a marathon is just like Bride Boot Camp) because we all know that a grunt from a man is just like a wedding proposal. The getting down on the knee is actually so we know what is going on - otherwise grunts can get confusing.

Only that doesn't happen. Instead I get melancholy and have to go for my walk. I walk so far I feel like I can't stop. It is raining. I have sad music on. I am officially in the scene of the movie titled: "I am sad" (and the only way to truly represent "sad" is by walking in the rain).

But I also realise I have a training technique that is flawless.

Melancholy=Marathon Machine.

I am the Duracell bunny that will not stop. Yay for my ex's!

(Note to self: get cut outs of ex's for finish line. Possibility of coming 1st looking likely. Also have somewhere to direct nauseated vomit on completion.)

Run a Mile

Is it okay to run a marathon without the running?

(Note to self: do whatcha wanna do, be whatcha wanna be...yeah!)

Oops a Daisy...

Yes, well, best laid plans and all that.

No training at all on weekend. Had weekend away with friend at her property and there seemed to be a great deal of exercising our mouths instead. Exercising of mouth happened in two stages.

Firstly by "girl therapy". A two-day therapy session where we try and figure out the ridiculousness of a man's brain and his actions (or more like inactions). No progress was made on this front and we are still none the wiser.

The only way to get through "therapy" is with copious amounts of wine and beer, followed up by hot chip sandwiches. So mouth is well and truly exercised.

Due to alcohol abundance, drunken emails and texts are sent to ridiculous men - without thinking - and then more therapy ensues.

It is a vicious but necessary cycle of life.

(Note to self: you are an idiot.)

The Emperor's New Clothes

So we up and running...literally!

Trained in new attire and feel fabulous. Whilst running tights may not be a good look for my thighs, they don't fall down when moving and that is far more important. Grandma panties are sad - they seemed to enjoy the exposure. Naughty panties. Hopefully no flashing at marathon goes down. (Might have to go commando.)

New found respect for runners as training continues. Not sure how to sustain running for long periods of time (2 minutes) and brain seems to be allergic to the thought.

Thinking of being a very fast walker instead. If Jane Saville can do it, so can I!

Seems to be a few doubting Thomas's when it comes to me running the race (and I am not just talking of myself) and to those people I say, "Why don't you join me?"

Silence...

(Note to self: wear taekwondo black belt over running attire for kicking doubting Thomas's ass.)

Ho hum

Still have not got proper running attire. Hate shopping with a passion and would prefer to actually run than shop. Would it be gross to order sweaty running tights from eBay? Hmmm.

Might take Brother-ship down's advice and wear my Wonder Woman pyjamas on marathon. Elastic is good. Wonder Woman can take over if I get tired (we can also fly in invisible plane to finish line) and I am ready for nap o'clock when need arises. Yes Brother may be on to something there.

Got bib number is mail yesterday. Felt very official. Came in red, which is the colour of us slow going runners. Also the colour of "stop" - so wondering if there is symbolism there.

(Note to self: must look at neighbour's clotheslines in case they have sporting attire I can "borrow".)

Running with scissors

So today was the BIG day. There was a pep talk at Camp Paula for the big event.

Today was the day that we would actually start running.

Body and I were reluctant but knew, like ripping off a band-aid, that it had to be done and running shoes was so excited I almost had to get the nappies out (yes there was pee involved).

So after a few km in, I told the gang it was time and the running began. At first all was well. I was singing the Chariots of Fire theme song in my head and imagining big things, there was just a few minor problems...

Now at all previous training sessions there has only been walking and as such training attire was perfect: tracksuit pants, t-shirt and semi-sports bra. It worked...well until I started to run and then all hell broke loose!

My tracksuit pants wouldn't stay up - apparently the elastic wasn't quite up to the challenge of any sudden movements, so I looked like a sixteen-year-old boy with my underwear hanging out (not a pretty sight given I wear Grandma panties). T-shirt seemed to be up to the challenge of running but underneath was another story. Bra straps were constantly falling down and I felt like I was going to knock my eyes out at any moment and turn up to work with two black eyes (imagine explaining that one). I don't think my poor boobs had had so much action in years.

So after a great deal of yelling and screaming it was decided that tracksuit pants and bra were no longer part of the marathon and would have to cheer from the sidelines (more therapy needing to be booked).

(Note to self: Must get proper running attire but NOT silly little running shorts - butt will make a guest appearance otherwise and I don't want to scare the children.)

The two H's

Little heads up. These two words do not go together: hangover and heat.

Drinking beer is always a good idea but drinking many (plus a couple of glasses of champagne) is maybe not so good.

Body was having a great time though and after all the training figured maybe it was time for some fun. Okay it has only been two training sessions but that is two more than we have ever done.

Didn't realise how hot it was when hitting track. Suddenly body and I had an even worse headache, cracked lips, and in desperate need of liquids (even running shoes seemed to be struggling).

Had to suck it up - as professional athlete now.

Had brain wave when drunk (and it wasn't drunken texting) that body felt invincible after a few drinks. Maybe there is something to be said for adding a bit of vodka to water bottle on day of marathon. Sure I will pay for it after the race, but during I won't feel a thing! Important to look at all training methods I say.

(Note to self: must actually start running when training.)

Donate now!

Donation page officially up! (Click on Donate now! for direct link)

http://www.everydayhero.com.au/paula_gleeson

OMG!!

Okay so a few minor hurdles today (nothing that body and I had to physically jump - thank goodness!)

Firstly, getting up early is just not going to work. There was a unanimous vote from Camp Paula that mornings were, in fact, for quality pyjama time. Running shoes were upset but put in washing machine for therapy session.

Body and I did make it out for last morning training session and goal for today: work out how far 14.6km actually is.

Let me just say the reality of finding this out did not go well for both body and I. Both of us discussed getting in washing machine with running shoes - we also need therapy.

Seriously, this marathon is a LONG way! Considering if I will fit into pram, so someone can push me (are those people crazy? Running a marathon and pushing a pram. Having enough trouble pushing body out the door.)

Maybe can talk to organisers about having a piggy back option.

(Note to self: must get number of best sports psychologist for body, running shoes and I. Daily sessions a MUST.)

Day 1

I thought for my first day of training I would get up early. Seemed better than the evening when I am tired and know I won't want to do anything.

Body and I were still exhausted from last nights "talk." Went better than I thought - at first - then body seemed to grasp full reality of situation and sulked for most of the night. Continued to sulk when alarm went off this morning (I too was sulking, but I seem to be tougher than my body) and there was a great deal of me dragging body out the door. Body is like a two year old sometimes.

Once out the door had no real plan, so decided to walk along footpath and hope it lead to somewhere fun (like OZ or Matt Damon training for his next movie).

Good to be moving after six years of quality time with couch (realise must have "break up talk" with couch. Shame really, best relationship I ever had), body seems to be enjoying the outing also. This marathon stuff doesn't seem too hard. Mind you, no running today just walking. Didn't want body to have a nervous breakdown on first day.

Plan for tomorrow: must work out how far 14.6km is. For some reason that seems like it might be important.

(Note to self: Must stretch before and after training. Legs are having small meltdown and won't move.)

Well it is official. I am going to run a marathon! Yippee!

Decided to enter myself in the, "I can run, may jog but will probably walk" category.

I figure that way when I see a cute spectator, I have permission to walk over to said cute boy and check out star sign compatibility.

Marathon suddenly looking promising. Must remember to wear nice underwear and get hair done for big day.

Now I have the stressful job of sitting my body down and explaining what I have signed us up for. I imagine there will be tears and maybe a tantrum or two but nothing a large pizza and ice-cream can't fix.

No possible way I can fit in tantrums, tears and training today, so it is decided: training starts tomorrow!

Suddenly need paper bag...can't breathe...am hyperventilating...

(Note to self: take paper bag to training.)

My First Marathon

So today I notice an ad for a marathon. At first I skip over it, like I normally do with anything relating to exercise, but today something makes me go back to it.

I think to myself, why not? After all I haven't done any form of exercise for six years now, so surely I am in peak physical condition to run a 14.6km marathon. I mean how hard can it really be? People run marathons all the time, if it was too hard no one would do it. Right?

I don't sign myself up for the Run for Kids marathon on the 14th of March immediately (that would be too much pressure), instead I do what any athlete preparing for a marathon does - put on my running shoes. I figure that is a great start to my running regime.

Trouble is, I can't quite remember where my running shoes are and have to pull out everything from my closet to find the damn things. Crisis averted, shoes are found. Now must put them on and start training...only I realise that pulling everything out of my closet was like running a marathon. So congratulate myself on a great first day of training.

Must apply for marathon tomorrow to make it official. Decide sleeping on it is a better idea, just in case I have a nightmare I am Arni in The Running Man and chicken out.