Category: Uncategorized

I hate to admit it, but I really do love a good romantic comedy.

I know enjoying romantic comedies is embarrassingly girly, but unfortunately this is one girly tendency I just haven’t got away from. 

I absolutely love watching the unexpected frisson between the hero and the heroine, following the process they go through to get to know each other, and observing how they overcome various obstacles to get to the point where they start a relationship.

I love seeing likeable characters find a happy ending, and a blossoming romance is all part of this happy ending.

Unfortunately, while I absolutely love watching or reading romance, I’ve yet to do romance at all personally.

I’ve never set up something wildly creative and wonderful simply to see the delight in the face of my significant other.  I’ve never engineered anything just because I think he’d love it.

Basically I’m about as romantic as a pair of old moth eaten full cotton briefs.

If anyone asked me to frolic around with a heart shaped balloon while dressed as a lacy nymph like the woman in the below photograph, I’d stab them with it. 

For me, watching a romantic movie or reading a romantic novel is enjoyable, but I wouldn’t necessarily go to the effort of creating romance in my own life.

It’s a bit like eating versus cooking.  I’d much rather eat a beautiful meal than actually cook it myself. 

I’d rather consume romance than produce it.   

My significant other bought me flowers early on in the piece, so I bought him some not long after.  Embarrassingly, I did this not to be romantic, but because I felt I should even up the score.  He thought it was quite strange for myself as a woman to be buying him flowers as a man, but he also found it quite cute. 

Personally I’m not keen on romantic gestures that involve the expenditure of a lot of money, either as the giver or the receiver.  I’m extremely uncomfortable with receiving such gifts, because I feel like I’m being bought, and that I owe the person the same sort of thing in return.  I’m also way too much of a tight arse to give these sorts of romantic gifts, with my natural tendency to watch the budget always cutting in well before I go anywhere near such things. 

Standard romantic gifts like flowers or chocolates also don’t do a lot for me these days.  Cut flowers are just going to sit in a vase and die, and they are pretty much useless anyway.  Chocolates are at least useful, but as I tend to end up with chocolate smeared across my face when I eat them, I have a far greater chance of keeping my relationship if I’m alone when I enjoy them.  Besides which, I can easily just buy chocolates myself if I want them anyway.

As the length of my relationship with my significant other has extended, the bunch of flowers kind of romance has dropped away.  To be honest, my significant other and I also had to sort out a few issues before we gained a better understanding of each other and as a result, a better quality relationship.  We have had some beautiful romantic moments, but a lot of these have really just been him being wonderful when the chips were down. 

I also have to admit that at this point in my relationship, if my spouse did something extraordinarily romantic, I would be extremely suspicious as to what his motive was, and why he would go to the trouble to do this.

This is because I’m aware that I haven’t been the consistently loving, supportive and totally amazing significant other that really deserves these sorts of extra special romantic gestures.   

Because romance is the same as most other things in life; the more romantic things you do for someone, the more romantic things they do for you. 

Overall though, I still love the concept of romance. 

However I think that the most beautifully romantic gesture in the world is simply to set aside time for someone.  Personally, I prefer that this time be set aside for a shared enjoyable experience, separate from one’s mundane and every day existence.  These experiences don’t need to be expensive at all, but the thought put into them always results in something beautiful and memorable.  So if I ever get off my arse and try romance, I’d have a go at something like this. 

The awesome photos used in this article were taken from the amazing website pexels.com.

© Annemaree Jensen 2019

It’s fairly difficult to avoid going to shopping centres at least occasionally.

I’m one of those people who gets a limited amount of pleasure out of the shopping centre experience.  I do enjoy parts of it, but I also like to leave again after a few hours, at most.

In my view the worst things about shopping centres are:

Clothes Shops

At the moment women’s clothing outlets are full of clothes that have been made in a surprisingly wide variety of bright and bold tablecloth prints.  Apparently someone decided that tablecloths were actually cutting edge fashion and all of us are now supposed to be wearing the very same prints that caught stray blobs of tomato sauce on my parent’s kitchen table in the eighties.

One really needs to be wearing sunglasses to enter such stores, whose walls are literally covered in various items of clothing all made in large, bright mismatching garish prints.  There also seems to be a fascination with bare shoulders, holes cut out of shirts, shirts that are cut four times longer on their left side than on their right side or tops that have to be crossed over one’s chest in some sort of weird geisha arrangement and then secured with large belts, ties or buttons.  I don’t know about you but I seriously don’t have the time or patience for this shit. 

All I want is something easy to wear that actually covers my skin (without getting caught in the doors of lifts or dragging on the ground), and that doesn’t make me feel like I’m wearing the latest modernist painting.   

Adults who Still Haven’t Realised That Other Human Beings Exist

Some adults who have already spent many more than 18 years living on this planet have still not realised that other human beings exist.  These people unfortunately seem to love shopping centres.  They will go to the ATM and spend five minutes re-organising their wallet and its contents after they have tucked away their money, before they finally break off to once again meander down the aisle, still oblivious to the fact that anyone at all was behind them, let alone a queue of six people.  At some point they will then arm themselves with a shopping trolley and spend another three hours in the supermarket, taking up the whole aisle at all times by positioning it and themselves in a way that obstructs everyone else.  Sometimes they will also bring along a spouse who is also as yet unaware that anyone other than their significant other exists, and they help with blocking aisles and causing bottlenecks whenever they can.

Unfortunately some adults in this category actually work for the supermarket, and as they are armed with additional boxes and trolleys, they are able to quickly clog the whole aisle.  It has never occurred to them that supermarket’s customers actually pay their wages. 

Personally I find the fact that some people do not have the ability to sense the presence of other human beings extraordinary.  I automatically detect if someone else is behind me at the ATM, or near me in a supermarket aisle.  This is part of my general awareness of self and others, it is definitely not a special skill.  I most certainly don’t need anyone to bore holes into my back with their death stare eyes in order to start prickling with the recognition that someone is behind me (though I’m happy to do this to someone else if they haven’t detected that I’m waiting).  I know that someone else is present as soon as they materialise. 

The Public Toilets

What more can one say?  Public toilets are just like all other services that have the word public in front of them: always a dreary, unpleasant, limited and smelly experience.  I only use any of these services if I’m desperate.   

While public toilets are the kind of experience that makes one desperate for soap of any kind to cleanse one’s hands with, unfortunately soap seems to be a precious commodity that can only be made sparingly available, according to shopping centre management.   There always has to be at least two soap dispensers that are completely empty, and don’t expect them to be refilled anytime soon.

At one shopping centre I visit they have a private seating/rest area with comfortable seating right in front of the doors that open into the men’s and ladies toilets.  This is presumably so that people can wait for their friend or family member who is conducting their private business.  Now I don’t know about you, but there is no way in hell that I would wait right in front of the smelly public toilets if I needed to wait for someone.  There are so many other places to wait inside the shopping centre itself. 

On the other hand there are some parts of the shopping centre experience that are on the opposite end of the positive/negative scale.

I think the best things about shopping centres are:

The Cafés and Food Outlets

There has been many a time when I’ve been close to ripping my partner’s head off and a café has completely saved the day.  Mind you caffeine and/or food quite regularly help prevent me from being charged with murder or grievous bodily harm.  Cafes are always a revitalising haven and also allow me to get away from the drain of the constant commercial push to buy for a while. 

I seriously don’t think I’d go to shopping centres at all if they didn’t provide food. 

And yes, I am a little fatty who believes that food is one of life’s delights.

People Watching

I love observing the glorious diversity that is the human species, and there is no place better to do it than at a shopping centre.  I love to check out the different ways other human beings choose to adorn themselves, to read the stories they tell about themselves through what they wear and the way they hold themselves, and to realise the diversity in spouse/family arrangements that exists. 

Finding Good Stuff

Let’s face it, even the most non-materialistic person amongst us loves finding something in a shop that is exactly what they were looking for.  I’m always delighted when I find something at the right price that will serve a particular purpose perfectly.  

All of us have our own individual identity, complete with our own tastes, goals and preferences, so I don’t feel any need to apologise for the fact that I enjoy a satisfying purchase.

The awesome images in this article are taken from the amazing website pexels.com, except for the first two images which were taken from the awesome website pixabay.com.

© Annemaree Jensen 2019

I just love watching drunk chicks dancing at the pub. 

I also love actually being a drunk chick dancing at the pub.

Women love the expression and the release of dancing. The addition of alcohol also helps remove inhibitions as well as conveniently boosts energy levels. 

Females never waste the opportunity to have fun with dancing. 

For me the dark hazy pub dance floor is always the most enjoyable part of the pub, especially when the band starts playing something decent, or at least plays decent songs during their breaks.  This allows me and my friends to release a bit of stress on the dance floor.  It gives us the opportunity to be complete dickheads and to enjoy ourselves unreservedly. 

Personally I’m never at all likely to pick up, but I didn’t give a rat’s arse about missing out on having someone’s tongue down my throat when there is the liberation and joy of dancing on offer.

Having said that, it’s amazing how few pubs have worked out that it’s a good idea to have a dance floor and play music that it’s possible to dance to.  Drunk chicks always want to dance, and if you give them the opportunity to have a few drinks and a fun night out to a hotel, they’ll not only spend money themselves, but bring the blokes along as well.

Men also express themselves on the dance floor, but fewer of them seem to feel free enough to do this.  It’d be great if more men enjoyed dancing purely because of the simple joys of physical expression and good music.

Dancing styles are also great fun to observe at the pub.  Some blokes (and even some women) simply shuffle their feet from left to right in what looks like an attempt to move as little as possible but still get away with calling it dancing.  Some people get into elaborate dance moves that incorporate starting lawnmowers and movements that are characteristic of a range of other activities, including the act of procreating.  

Some people like the up close and personal style of dancing, which is fine as long as it doesn’t end up with tongues down throats.  In my opinion tongues down throats is revoltingly bad form on a dance floor. 

Sometimes however, people can dance in close physical contact but hell would freeze over before tongues down throats even came close to happening.  I’ve seen people swiftly flying around the dance floor in a waltz, but the male seems sometimes seems to be simply manoeuvring his female partner around the dance floor like a mop, her shorter legs almost running in an attempt to keep up with his lengthier stride. 

I feel very lucky to have grown up with free style bogan pub dancing, because you don’t have to look fantastic, know what you are doing, or to have learnt anything at all to have a great time.  At the same time I have amazing respect for people who can actually dance particular styles of dance and do it without breaking the feet of their dance partner (this group definitely does not include me). 

Here’s to dancing of any kind, and to how amazing it makes you feel.

The awesome images in this article are taken from the amazing website pexels.com.

© Annemaree Jensen 2019

I’m sitting in a hotel beer garden under the dappled shade of an impressively large maple.

I’m supposed to be here on a date with someone who actually sounded quite keen to see me a week ago.  As a result while I’m not that good at presentation overall, today I’ve made a considerable effort to turn out well. 

I try to look happy as I sit alone while the pub continues to swell around me with the growing afternoon beer garden crowd. 

Of course, I’m anything but happy. 

I’ve now been sitting here for over an hour already and my “date,” is still yet to appear.

Luckily I bought myself a pint before I deposited myself at the table. 

As I play with the drips of condensation on my glass I can feel my face going slightly red at the fact that I’m even on a date.  Even the word is such a stupid American term.  The more I think about the word, the more ridiculous I find it.  I actually have my very own “date” anyway, one that is actually a part of my personal anatomy.  I’m currently sitting on it in fact.  Why would I even need another date?  I’ve got my own arsehole, and as far as arseholes go, it’s actually pretty good.

Anyway, I’m digressing.  I take another swig of ale and tell myself to get a grip.  Why am I even thinking about my anus at such a time anyway?  The reality of the situation is that this date is a complete failure and I must focus on what to do next. 

Unfortunately instead of working out what to do next I end up staring off into the distance. I hope that this will give the impression that I’m in the habit of frequenting this hotel’s beer garden for a quiet beer on the weekends because I’m a busy self-employed business woman who gains inspiration from such places. 

I then start asking myself where I went wrong.  All the usual I’m-a-total-arsehole indicators were missing when I met him, and they were absent again when he phoned afterwards.  Obviously just an outstanding actor but actually a complete f*$#wit.  Better to have found out now anyway, I tell myself.  Despite the fact that I’d rather the let down now, I’m not enjoying the sudden feeling of complete loneliness that is crushing my heart. 

The late afternoon sun is dropping quickly and by now the beer garden is almost at capacity.  A group of young men on a stag night pub crawl appear and ask if they can sit at my table.  I agree, knowing that there is no need to hold one square inch of it for anyone else, despite the fact that I’m not really in the mood for a group of completely trashed 25 year old blokes.  Fortunately, aside from being rather merry, they are friendly and actually an uplifting distraction.  They are even interested in talking to me, which I find heartening.  I also like the fact that I’m in the harmless older woman category for them, as they are in the harmless young bloke category for me.

After a bit of a chat with the young fellas I excuse myself.  My pint glass is empty and I decide that for as long as I stay at the hotel on this particular occasion, I’d like to at least have a glass of something in my hand.  Plus I might as well make the best of the situation, considering that I’m here now and I’m dressed at least half decently. 

Luckily the bar of this hotel is the kind that has bar stools in front of it, mainly for the old men that come down for one or two in the afternoon during the week, or for people like me who have been stood up and feel like another drink before they go home.

I seat myself on a bar stool at the quieter side of the bar that is not too close to the other bar flies.  Once equipped with an ice cold pint, I think about what I could get done around the house tonight. 

I love the anonymity of pubs, and the fact that anyone can pull up a bar stool and enjoy the hotel revelry without having to participate directly.  It’s not normally the sort of thing you can do quite as easily at those inane over-priced clubs. 

The peace that I am enjoying is unfortunately short lived.  A couple of blokes suddenly and somewhat unsteadily break out of the crowd.  One of them seems to be directing the operation, holding the arm of his completely intoxicated friend.  Predictably, he plonks him on a bar stool right next to me.  I’m a little surprised that the friend hasn’t as yet been turfed out of the establishment altogether, though it’s probably because it’s still early and the bouncers have only just started their evening shift.    

The drunk gentleman is of the talkative variety.  His words are heavily slurred and he seems to be asking his friend why almost continuously.  The friend’s name appears to be Joe, as indicated by his drunk friend who is using it rather repetitively.  Joe requests water for his mate, but he is too drunk to be interested in this. 

I make a concerted effort to appear uninterested in what is taking place right next to me.

This is more difficult than expected, because Joe is actually rather hot.  By hot, I mean industrial furnace hot, and a stifling tropical heat has all of a sudden settled in the hotel. 

I take a sip of my beer to try to cool down.  I recall that I’m actually sitting by myself here because I’ve been stood up, so now is probably not the best time to try to sell my many irresistible qualities to someone else.  Joe seems to have quite enough on his plate at the minute anyway. 

The drunk gentleman continues to ask Joe why.  His friend continuously replies, “its not your fault, man, she just wasn’t good enough for you.”  The drunk friend then starts babbling in a quiet voice about someone female, becoming teary as he does so.  Meanwhile his friend finally finds a number on his mobile and puts a call through.  I hear him asking someone called Will to come and collect them, explaining that Dan is not in a good way.  Will appears to respond in the affirmative and Dan is then told, “you’ll be allright man, Will is coming to pick us up.  You deserve someone much better than her.”

I like how Joe handles the situation, and the fact that he tells his friend exactly the same things I tell mine when they break up with some remarkable f$*#wit or other.

I continue drinking my pint.  Dan continues to cry, and suddenly almost falls off his bar stool on to me.  His friend re-seats him just in time, apologising with a smile as he does so.

Mmmm, I think, that was definitely worth it. 

Gorgeous smile. And the eyes, rrrrrrooooooffffff! 

I instantly smile and wave off the apology with a no worries.

Dan and Joe then return to more blubbering and more reassuring until I notice Joe look outside at a dual cab that has stopped awkwardly on the road outside the pub. 

“Come on Dan, Will’s here to pick us up,” he states as he gets up.  Dan doesn’t appear to be too keen on moving, and his torso waves about clumsily on his bar stool. 

I notice that no one else seems to be coming to Joe’s aid.  I’m wonderfully sober, so I figure I might as well offer some help.

“Do you want a hand?” I ask Joe.  “Yeah, that’d be great,” he replies with a smile, running a hand through his hair in frustration.  He takes one of Dan’s arms and I take the other, introducing myself to Dan as we manhandle him out of the bar towards the road. 

Luckily Will is still waiting on the road side in his dual cab ute and he hops out to help as we approach.  Once the car door is open I let Will take over and Dan is eventually seated in the vehicle.

They both thank me.  “It was nothing,” I say as I hastily retreat back inside the hotel, hoping that my face is not as flushed as it feels.  At least it turns out that my presence at this hotel on this particular occasion wasn’t a total waste of time.  Not only that, the events that have just taken place around me are an excellent reminder that there are other fish in the sea for all of us, so to speak.

Back at the bar I take another large gulp of beer and wonder what scaly leftovers I’ve got in the fridge to eat for dinner, when all of a sudden Joe appears at the bar again.

I wonder if I’m dreaming as I attempt a hasty swallow of the mouthful of beer, looking like a goldfish trying to smile.  “I’ve got to go,” I hear him saying, “but I just thought I’d give you my number in case you ever wanted to catch up again, minus my drunk friend.”  With that he hands me a faded receipt with a mobile number written on the back of it. His final gift is an intense smile, and then he is gone.  

I stare at the mobile number and this time my now deflated goldfish face turns a lovely deep red wine shade.  The hotel noise has disappeared around me and I’m in my own ecstatic little world.

I finish my pint and walk around the corner to my place, a dropping sun in my eyes.  I’m grinning foolishly at nothing in particular as I walk. 

It occurs to me that making the best of the situation apparently really is the way to do it.

I’m well aware that nothing will probably come of the afternoon’s events.  But even if nothing does, someone was interested in me at one moment in time, and that was all I needed.

Postscript:  Something does come of the afternoon’s events, and in fact more somethings than I could’ve even dreamt of. 

Just goes to show. 

All of the amazing images included in this essay are taken from the awesome website pexels.com

© Annemaree Jensen 2019

Thankfully there are a few fringe benefits that come with work, including:

The benefit of having other people around who are having less of a shit of a day than you are

I’ve worked in small and large workplaces.  One of the advantages of working in a large workplace is that even if you are having one of the worst days of your life, there is always another relatively happy and perky staff member who is having a good day instead, and having them around does brighten you up immeasurably sometimes.

Getting to feel a bit distinctive because you are wearing keys/swipe cards

We all love to feel a bit special and being allocated keys or swipe cards that jingle about our person does the trick nicely.  Most of the time these keys and swipe cards only give you access to the metaphorical bowels of the company or organisation, and a lot of the time quite fittingly the bowels aren’t that much fun, but somehow or other we still like being authorised to work in them.

Work clothing

I don’t give a rat’s arse about what I look like or what I happen to be dressed in most of the time, but even I don’t mind feeling a bit smarter and more of the sizzling professional business woman when I go to work sometimes.  I’ve also worked in jobs where I’ve been able to wear the disco reflective stripes on the high visibility shirts, and sometimes I’ve even been able to drive a vehicle that has the matching reflective stripes, yay!  I don’t know about you but I love the disco stripes, despite the fact that none of the jobs I’ve done have ever actually incorporated any evening discos whatsoever.    Shame, really.

Pay

Let’s face it, most of us wouldn’t show up to work if there wasn’t any pay involved.  The fortnightly pay (plus superannuation) is one of the most important reasons we turn up.  The fact that it is paid fortnightly is also critical, as if we got our pay in a six monthly or 12 monthly lump sum, it probably wouldn’t hold us there.    

The opportunity to pretend that you know what you’re talking about

Work gives many of us the opportunity to provide information to the community, clients or customers.  Being in a position where you are giving information to other people because you supposedly know what you are talking about makes you feel rather important and special.  Occasionally someone above you feeds you bullshit and you inadvertently pass this on, but most of the time you do try to pass honest and useful information on.     

The Opportunity to be Drop Dead Gorgeous

Let’s face it, sometimes work does allow us to dress up and look a bit hot.  If we are single, sometimes work also gives us the opportunity to meet other attractive individuals.  It does also give us the opportunity to meet boring half-wits, but you just have to keep hoping that you’ll meet the attractive ones at some point.  Alternatively, if we are already in a couple, none of us minds being seen as a bit gorgeous by other people as we go about our very busy and important work (to quote Bridget Jones). 

Paid tea breaks

Some of the jobs I’ve done provided a paid 15 minute morning tea break.  It might be ridiculous, but I happily throw in the rest of the day just because I get a paid 15 minute morning tea break.  This 15 minute break gives me time to make phone calls, send texts and catch up on my life in general.  The allocation of just a few precious minutes allows me to feel a little bit organised again.  I can deal with the other 7.5 hours because I am given this small window of time for myself.

All of the amazing images included in this essay are taken from the awesome website pexels.com, apart from the work clothing photo and the drop dead gorgeous photo, which were taken from the amazing website pixabay.com.

© Annemaree Jensen 2019

I would just like to say that men should think twice next time they complain about any of the inconveniences associated with being male.

A female body makes far more demands on its owner.

Every month for a significant length of time over a woman’s life the female body will bleed.  While this bleed is happening the body will also drastically reduce all of the normal feel good hormones that it pumps through the body, just to make the bleed even more fun.  If you are lucky, you will also experience cramps throughout the bleed that require you to dose yourself up on painkillers just to survive your day.

On top of this, because the female body has an elaborate reproductive system that is designed for the possibility that you might need to carry a foetus around in a protective cavity surrounded by muscle, it requires unpleasant medical check-ups to be undertaken on a regular basis.

Until very recently these check-ups included the inside of this cavity being gently scraped by one’s GP every two years just to find out whether it was still normal.  If there are any other symptoms in between, then there will be a veritable festival of internal investigations and internal scans characterised by even more poking and prodding.

My GP knows my body more intimately than I do as a result of all the regular checks that I have paid for over the years.  My body apparently has all the normal female equipment, however it does not perform as expected and gives me odd pain that no one can explain, despite numerous investigations and scans.

Regardless of whether your body performs as expected or not, you may or may not produce a child with it.  Despite this, you will still enjoy a monthly bleed.  You will also have to carry around a pair of breasts for your entire life, even though they are only there to feed a child you may never have.  Not only that, you then have menopause to look forward to which is characterised by a long list of other unpleasant symptoms that can continue for years on end.  To top it all off, after the menopause your reward is simply to become an old lady who will have to suffer all the usual indignities associated with getting old.

Men do not experience any of the above wonderful pleasures.  While testicles may be slightly inconvenient, they are small and have little impact on a man even if they don’t use them to produce a baby.  A penis is always useful to a man regardless, and no one tries to open it up and give it an internal investigation.  As for the rest of the male reproductive system, it is all neatly packed inside the male body and generally gives very little trouble.

Men don’t have a monthly bleed.  Their life is one long linear journey, without regular poking and prodding by medical practitioners.  Sure, at a certain age they might get their prostate checked but they aren’t expected to have regular tests throughout their “reproductive life” for this.  Sure, when they do get their prostate checked they may have to endure a medical practitioner’s finger up their rear end for a brief time, but there is even a blood test that often means they can get away without this experience too.

Men seriously do not know how lucky they are to have been born with a male body instead of a female one. 

For the women reading this article, I recommend a coffee and a large slice of mud cake after cervical tests or internal scans. I’d also go for a larger slice than in the image above, it looks rather on the stingy side to me.  It’s the trick I use to force myself to attend them anyway.

© Annemaree Jensen 2019

All of the amazing images included in this essay are taken from the awesome website pexels.com.

Personally I’m not all that impressed by society’s obsession with being a couple.

Being in a couple can be great, but I’d just like to say that being single is actually pretty damn good too.

Being single means:

• You can do whatever the hell you want to do.

Suddenly feel tired at a party?  You can go home at the exact moment you want to.  When you get home you can then dress in revolting tartan pyjamas and even more ghastly furry slippers like the gentleman in the above photograph.  You can even pop a cute little winter jumper on to your mug of coffee like he has if this is the kind of thing that gets you going.

Do you like to do things your way most of the time?  Go ahead and do whatever you want, exactly the way you want to do it.  Too many late afternoon drinks and you can’t be bothered cooking dinner tonight?  Feel free to eat straight out of that tin of tuna that you later discover is cat food.

Not only can you do whatever you want when you’re single, you also don’t have to put up with the other half of your couple when they’re being a pain in the arse.  It doesn’t matter who you’re with, all human beings are a pain in the arse sometimes.  Not only that, they all sometimes go through high-maintenance-continuous-pain-in-the-arse-phases where they are needy because they are going through a difficult patch in their lives.  This difficult patch might just be something like a death in their family, a change in their job situation or a health problem.  Because you are their special person, you’ll be the one patiently helping them through this phase.  While your special person will love you for this, we all know that it’s about as much fun as a complicated 24 hour rectal operation where the anaesthesia fails completely and you have a number of doctors and a class room full of medical students present the whole time.

I know this because I can be a much bigger pain in the arse than my de facto ever is, and even I don’t like my own company much at such times. 

• You can focus on yourself and your goals and dreams.

Being single is a great opportunity to both nurture and develop yourself.   You can learn things that you’ve always wanted to learn.  You can develop new habits and become a happier and calmer person.  It’s always a good thing to use your single time to deal with some of your issues, because as sure as hell if you don’t use this time to deal with them, they’ll always rear their ugly head in your next romantic relationship.  

I know this because the fact that I didn’t have my shit sorted out in some areas of my life emerged like the alien exploding out of Sigourney Weaver’s stomach in Alien.  As you can imagine this aggressive alien had a negative impact on my relationship.  I’m just thankful it didn’t pop out during an intimate moment.

• The world is a veritable smorgasbord of hotties, and you are the hottest of them all.

God, is anyone else burning up in here? 

Yeah, it’s that burning field of red hot sexual energy that surrounds you.

It’s so intensely red-hot it is blowing the body temperature of everyone else in the room through the roof. 

You can’t help it, you’ve just got it.

It doesn’t matter what age you are, you’ll always have it.

The only thing you can do is simply enjoy it, and enjoy the anticipation of who you are going to find amongst that beautiful and adrenalin raising smorgasbord of hotties.

It’s only a matter of time before you bump into someone who is almost on fire, they are that hot.  Not only that, but this person will also be loving, funny, kind and intelligent.

The only time being single ever bothered me was when I was feeling a bit down.  I occasionally doubted myself and thought that I might not be good enough to meet someone totally amazing.

I shouldn’t have wasted my time.

I should’ve simply kept believing in myself, and continued having a great time learning new things and doing all the things I wanted to do while I was single.

As they say, enjoy it while it lasts.

All of the amazing photos included in this essay are taken from the awesome website pexels.com.

© Annemaree Jensen 2018

I’m not sure if I’m the only one, but I think women’s fashion is at times just plain stupid, as well as seriously punishing for the wearer.

Some examples of female fashion that I think are awful and/or painful are as follows:

 

Bodysuits

 

 

Why did someone think these would be a good idea?  Bodysuits were in fashion when I was a teenager, and I was recently mortified to discover that they are now out in all the shops and apparently in fashion again.  The woman in the image above looks good in a bodysuit, but she would also look gorgeous in a hessian sack.  For the general female population bodysuits are wrong in a multitude of ways.  Firstly, they are uncomfortable to wear and look like some sort of weird female mankini.  Secondly, as bodysuits are buttoned up at your crotch, they form an extra layer on top of one’s underwear and consequently create a lot of unnecessary heat around one’s business end.  Even blokes know that their business end is better served by a single layer of underwear that breathes nicely and allows a bit of air circulation.  Finally, as there is actually no need to secure one’s shirt between one’s legs, bodysuits are simply redundant.

 

Strapless Dresses

 

 

I’ve seen so many brides who amazingly voluntarily wear the strapless dress, as well as countless versions of the strapless cocktail dress.  While strapless dresses often do look lovely, they are a pain because they lock women in an ongoing fight with gravity.  In order to counteract the force of gravity that wants to eagerly pull the bodice of the dress down, your breasts have to be bound up like a geisha’s feet and the bodice of the dress has to be that tight that your rib cage is in danger of breaking.  There is no way in hell that you’ll be able to take a deep breath for the duration of the evening.  Alternatively, there are many other occasions on which despite all the binding, your breasts refuse to submit.  As a result you have to spend the entire evening continuously hoisting the dress back up to prevent flashing your tits at the whole party.

 

Severe High Heels

 

 

High heels are worn because everyone loves feeling a little bit taller and more powerful than they usually do.  Some women even feel sexy in them, though personally I can’t see why they need shoes to make themselves feel sexy.  Severe high heels painfully crush your feet both while you are wearing them and give you at least a day or two of aches and pains after wearing them.  The only time I think severe high heels are useful are as a piercing or tearing weapon should you ever need to defend yourself against a physical attack.

 

Bridal Party Up Dos

 

 

For some reason or other the “up do” is often selected as the hair style of choice for weddings.  This involves one’s hair being twisted up and set in the manner of the prim upper class lady.  Unfortunately approximately four million pins have to be inserted into your hair in order to keep the do in place.  This is fine, except for the fact that it will take you at least three hours at the end of the night to get them all out again.  After the pins are inserted you will also nearly pass out when your head is sealed with a whole can of noxious hair spray to prevent the do from moving throughout the night.  Finally, if you don’t have thick voluminous hair like I don’t, the up do will still end up relatively flat.  As a result you will look like a prim librarian scarily attempting to resemble a prostitute.  See below.

 

Bridal Party Make Up

 

Before

After

 

There is something about weddings that cause make-up artists to smother you in that much of the gunk that you end up resembling a prostitute or a drag queen.  This is supposedly because they need to counteract the fact that the make-up will wear off during the day.  Apparently this is a problem on wedding days when it isn’t a problem on any other occasion?  In any case you will end up looking scarily doll-like, and actually not resembling yourself in any way, shape or form.

 

Cocktail Dresses

 

 

As in the image above, cocktail dresses are often designed to show that much off that the woman wearing the dress is left practically naked in front of an assembly of people.  Cocktail dresses often feature extremely low cut bodices, splits in the skirt to ensure one’s white upper legs and cellulite dimples are on show to everyone at awkward moments, or excessively short skirts.  If this wasn’t enough they are also often adorned with fluffy useless bits of fabric at the sleeves or on some other part of the dress that fulfil no purpose and refuse to sit flat, just to top off your awkward night out.  I’m not saying it’s impossible to find a gorgeous cocktail dress that is also comfortable to wear, I’m just saying that it can be hard work finding one.

Seriously, I think women should dress to both look and feel hot, and for comfort at the same time.

I think we should reject painful examples of female fashion that don’t allow us to feel happy and relaxed while we enjoy a special occasion.

 

All of the amazing photos included in this essay are taken from the awesome website pexels.com, except for the last four photos which are taken from the awesome website pixabay.com.

 

© Annemaree Jensen 2018

It is one of those beautiful early spring evenings that makes you glad to be alive, when the world feels both beautiful and full of possibility.

A slight sea breeze sets my hair dancing freely as my close friend Sarah and I walk downhill toward one of the best hotels around.

Tonight I’m wearing my well-worn navy tight fitting jeans.

I love these jeans.

Wearing them makes me feel rather slinky and rather hot, actually.

It is probably a bit sad to feel hot in tight fitting jeans.  However I don’t often feel hot, so fuck it, I’m just going to enjoy the feeling.

Sarah and I are both pumped for a huge night out.  Neither of us has anything in particular to celebrate, we are just celebrating the fact that we are alive and we can do whatever the hell we feel like doing.  Tonight our stars are aligned and we are both out to paint the town red.

There is a happy vibe at the hotel, and I’m also instantly in a good mood when I notice the large variety of freshly showered and muscled gentlemen present.

We head direct to the bar and order ourselves drinks.  Sarah orders a white wine and I order beer, having never been able to understand why people actually pay to drink something that tastes like its only a couple of days off vinegar.

Sarah is a steadfast and generous friend.  She is also a five foot two gorgeous and petite package, but is one of those people who doesn’t know exactly how gorgeous or petite she is.  Sarah is also equipped with an unexpectedly fowl mouth and a heart the size of Phar Lap, two qualities I love.  Personally I’m six foot and not especially attractive, however I feel rich beyond measure with the people that surround me so I don’t give a shit about this.  Sarah and I get along like a house on fire.

The beer tastes as marvellous as it normally does on a sunny spring evening.  Sarah and I always have plenty to talk and laugh about, and we also enjoy the abundance of male scenery as we drink.

Sarah is knocking back the drinks fairly quickly.  Her ability to handle copious amounts of alcohol is however well known, so I’m not concerned.  My capacity in this area is more limited, and as a result I always eat before I go out (actually I also just love food, so I like to eat whenever there’s an opportunity anyway).  However I do have to pace my drinks a little so that I can last the whole night.

Sarah asks me about a bloke I ended up having drinks with after rowing training the previous week.  This is absolutely huge news for me as my romantic life has been in palliative care for a number of years.  I can’t even remember the last time I had sex, or who I had it with for that matter.

Anyway the last time I went to rowing training a gentleman who turned out to be a member of my rowing club stayed back to have a few drinks with the female rowing team at the shed after he finished his own training.  We all enjoyed some light hearted conversation and I was completely satisfied with this as the end of a good day.  However somehow or other suddenly all my fellow rowers had disappeared and the gentleman (whose name is Dave) was still sitting there talking to me.  I was totally weirded out by the whole situation, as Dave happens to be rather gorgeous looking and I was also really enjoying  our conversation.  The fact that he was wearing nothing but a rowing singlet on his top half was an added bonus.

Anyway eventually I did head off home after one of the most unexpectedly amazing evenings of my life.  Dave even asked for my phone number and I gave it to him.  I hoped that my romantic life might at least be moved out of palliative care and back to the general ward.

Sarah loved hearing my story and is wonderfully positive about Dave, on the proviso that he doesn’t front up in singlets with under arm hair sprouting out everywhere all the time.  I tell her that his under arm hair doesn’t sprout out anyway, not that he would wear singlets on inappropriate occasions anyway.

Sarah is absolutely on fire tonight, so its not long before she has got us talking to a group of lawyers who are in for an extended after work drinks session.  None of the lawyers are my cup of tea, and I’m not theirs either.  However they are excellent company and we all enjoy some hysterically funny conversations.

After about an hour I notice that Sarah has slipped off to the ladies toilets.  I’m still having an entertaining conversation with a couple of lawyers, however notice that she seems to be taking longer than normal to go for a quick wiz on a big night out.  So after a while I excuse myself and head in to see how she is.

I find Sarah in the last toilet cubicle.  I am relieved to find that she is okay, however she is now sitting on the toilet seat with her head leaning on the wall of the hotel in an exhausted sleep.  She doesn’t look comfortable at all but she will not be awoken.  Her new jeans sit lonely around her ankles, as while she did manage to pull her underwear up after using the ablutions, she didn’t quite get to her jeans.

I decide to squat down to try and rouse her back into the current moment.  As I flex my knees in the limited space around the toilet bowl I hear an unavoidably swift and harsh tearing motion very close by.  I quickly realise that there is no getting away from it, the tearing motion has happened on my person.

I have split my pants.

Perhaps my well-worn tight fitting jeans were a little too tight and a little too well-worn.

My mortification is instantly displaced by swearing in disappointment because my beloved trusty jeans have let me down so terribly.

I then decide to count my blessings, and quickly feel relieved that at least this has happened while I was in the ladies toilets.

Unfortunately, my blessings run out all too soon.

I realise that it is summer and I don’t have a jacket that I can either wear or tie around my waste to conceal the split.  On top of this, I am wearing hot pink undies with white glow in the dark cookie monster faces all over them.

As I stand there in the toilet cubicle looking at my beautiful yet completely trashed friend and thinking about what to do next I wonder how such a great night could’ve turned into such a complete nightmare.

If I hadn’t already sobered up when it became obvious that I had a friend in need, I well and truly have now that I have split my trousers at a relatively classy hotel.

Sarah utters a few random words from her mooshed up face that is still moulded against the hotel wall.  I am encouraged by this, because if she’s starting to talk again it might be easier to man handle her out of the establishment and get both of us home.

I decide that at this point it might be a good idea to get Sarah a glass of water, as it might help expedite the sobering up process.  Even if she won’t drink it, fetching the water gives me something positive to do, and at this point doing anything is better than doing nothing.

Luckily the lights in the hotel were dimmed well before I headed off to the toilets in search of my friend, so I’m hoping I can duck quickly to the bar without too many comments about my cookie monster underwear.  If I clench my buttocks I might be able to counteract the glow in the dark aspect too.

I furtively open the Ladies Toilets door and after establishing the quickest route to the bar, I stride directly there.  Luckily I make it without anyone commenting on my cookie monsters, the rest of the crowd mercifully tied up in their own conversations.  There is a convenient space in between two groups, which I quickly claim as my own while trying to stand side on so that the gaping chasm that should be covered by my jeans is not on show.

While I wait for the bar maid I notice that the back side of a bloke in a group close to the dance floor looks a lot like Dave, and even his hair is cut the same way.  Must be just a strong resemblance I decide, and if we catch up again I’ll be able to tell him that I thought I saw him at a hotel the other night.

Predictably the crowd is now at its peak and it takes an eternity for the bar maid to serve me.  It takes that long that the gentleman with his back to me at the edge of the dance floor breaks from his group to buy a round of drinks.  I glance his way and immediately flatten my back against the bar as it is not a Dave look a like, it is in fact the real Dave and he is headed straight toward me.

My head is instantly pumping, so much so I can hear the blood pumping in the veins around my ears.  Unaware, Dave gives me a huge smile as soon as he sees me, saying how good it is to seem me.  He adds that he doesn’t normally come to this Pub but he’s on a buck’s night with some mates from work.  I try to remain relaxed as I reply that it’s great to see him, making room for him at the bar at the same time.  I no longer feel slinky or attractive in any way, and instead feel like a complete fraud.  As a result I find conversation much harder work than I normally do.  Luckily the bar maid swoops at this point, and I successfully secure a large water.  I immediately explain to him that I have a friend who is a little under the weather in the ladies toilets.  He is concerned, and tells me to come and grab him if I need a hand to get her home.  He then tells me that he really enjoyed our night the other week.  While he talks I notice that part of one of my breasts has popped out of my bra, probably due to my awkward side on position at the bar.  I try to loosen my shoulders to help it back in, however this is all to no avail.  It’s quickly obvious that I’m going to have to actually grab the cup and force the re-adjustment.  Luckily he’s passed that juvenile age that is characterised by staring at women’s breasts at the pub, and even more luckily he misses my quick grab while he pays for his drinks.  At this point I just decide that I better get away from him quickly, before I add any further faux paus to a wild and loose breast situation and split pants.

So before there is any chance of being drawn anywhere near to his friends I grab the glass of water and explain that I better head back to Sarah in her hour of need.  I tell him to enjoy his night and give him an enthusiastic great to see you as I shuffle awkwardly backwards away from him in the direction of the Ladies Toilets, trying to keep my buttocks clenched as I go.  He stands there with his group of pints at the bar as I complete my ridiculous reverse shuffle, watching me as I back all the way into the Ladies Toilet door.  I think this is because he wasn’t sure how to react to my odd exit, and decided that if someone performs such routine you are supposed to give them the benefit of watching the entire show.

When I am finally through the door of the toilets I have nearly coooked my engine, I’m that hot with embarrassment.  The stuffy toilets feel like they are heated at 90 degrees.  “Fuuuuuuuuccccckkkkk” I moan out loud to myself, “why here?”

Luckily my friend in the toilet starts making smacking noises with her mouth and I am drawn back into emergency mode again.  I ask her how she is and she responds with some other random words, but mercifully she drinks a few gulps of water.

I slide in next to the wall so that she is resting her head on me instead of the concrete wall and feed her occasional gulps of water as I listen to women pissing, laughing and drying their hands at the hand dryer.

I can’t believe how a night that started out so full of promise has finished with such complete disaster.

I doubt I’ll ever hear from him after my exceedingly odd farewell routine, and as a result it is highly unlikely that I’ll ever get the chance to explain that I actually had a split jeans emergency situation going on.

Apparently it turns out that all that looking hot business is totally all for nothing if your jeans are on the too well worn side of well worn.

While I feed Sarah more sips of water I silently pray that his buck’s night will take him safely away to some other establishment sooner rather than later.  There is no way that I’ll be able to man handle my drunk friend out of the hotel and manage to keep my back to the wall at all times as well.   I don’t mind anyone else’s comments on my cookie monsters, but I’d rather him not see this much of me so soon.

Luckily Sarah responds well to the water and after a while she is well enough to stand up and get her jeans back on.  I can then get my arm around her and we manage a rather off kilter shuffle together out of the toilet cubicle.

At the toilet door I brace myself for whatever pride I’m going to have to swallow to get my friend home.

To my immense relief I find that Dave and his mates have moved on to the next hotel.  After I realise this I quite happily laugh through a few cookie monster comments that are thrown my way in the process of getting my friend outside the hotel and then home again.

I’ve never forgotten this night, not a single detail of it.

Surprisingly Dave actually rang me too, so it turns out that sometimes the greatest of disasters aren’t that terrible after all.

All of the amazing photos included in this essay are taken from the awesome website pexels.com.

© Annemaree Jensen 2018

I’m extremely bad at flirting.

If there was a bloke around that I thought was even remotely attractive when I was younger I’d always be red faced and mute.

I preferred talking to my friends, who I knew I could rely upon.  I was already having a great time with them anyway.

At the time I suppose I also didn’t have the confidence to march up to someone I thought was attractive and flirt with them.

I do have the guts to do it now, but I still wouldn’t.

This is because after a few minutes of conversation with a bloke, I often discover that he is arrogant, full of it, uninteresting, or worse still, an absolute bore.  So I’ve decided that there is no point flirting with someone if I am going to want to urgently retract it a few minutes later.

Usually I find that a conversation has to happen first, and if it turns out that the bloke is a decent person with interesting things to say, I’m happy to flirt later on.

Not only do I think that flirting happens a little further down the track than some people do, I also think that the myriad of articles and books that offer advice on flirting are completely unnecessary.

Flirting comes naturally to all of us.

It is simply engaging with someone in a way that indicates that you are interested in them and would like to see more of them (in more ways than one).

It is usually characterised by putting your best self forward, which is of course significantly helped by unexpectedly finding yourself being possibly seen as attractive by someone you think is drop dead gorgeous.  Plenty of sparkling eyes, smiles and enjoyable conversation are shared.

No wonder people enjoy the experience.

There is no one on this planet that needs to learn how to do the above, and most of the flirting advice I have seen online teeters on the ridiculous.

Some of the startling flirting tips I’ve come across include the following:

Wear red (to take advantage of an unconscious association with the red light at the Escort Agency?) Not all of us look good in red.  You should wear what you are comfortable in and what you feel good wearing.  The woman in the image below looks great in red and looks happy wearing it, though she seems to have forgotten to button her jacket up.

Stroke your wrists or your neck sensually. In my case this would just create additional pimples I don’t need, and I’d probably end up scratching instead, which would instead drastically reduce my chances of scoring.

 Offer the sex kitten a hot drink (apparently hot beverages create positive feelings). I don’t think rushing in to ask if he’d like a tea or coffee at the Pub on a Saturday night would help anyone’s chances).

Other online articles suggest that you wink at someone in order to flirt with them.  In my opinion winking might have been a successful flirtation strategy two hundred years ago but it is not now.  If someone I previously thought was absolutely gorgeous winked at me I would think him rather presumptuous, and sleazy on top of it.  I would never even attempt it personally anyway, because when I try to wink both my eyes close so I end up looking like I either have something stuck in my eye or that I’m suffering from Tourette’s.

Another suggestion frequently mentioned is to gently touch the hottie at some point in the evening.  Personally I hate uninvited touching.  If a bloke uses any opportunity that presents itself (like having to go to the bar) to gently touch my arm, I find him sleazy.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind plenty of touching if things go well and we end up getting intimate, but there is plenty of time for all that.  I don’t think there is any point in rushing in to touch someone when you have only just met. You don’t know if you’ll end up hoping that you’ll never see them again or decide that you want to marry them and have their babies.  Besides it is always safer to assume that not everyone likes a lot of physical contact from people they don’t know well yet, because some people absolutely don’t.

On a positive note, there is one suggestion that I really think should be included in online articles on flirting that is always missed.

It is something that has always raised my level of interest in someone exponentially.

It is simple, easy and nothing to do with anyone’s appearance.

It is a sense of humour.

A sense of humour is one of the most wonderful and attractive qualities that any human being can offer.  I love blokes that have a sense of humour and it really does markedly ramp up their attractiveness.  Humour also lightens the conversation and keeps both people enjoying themselves, which is always a good thing.

The moral of the story is just enjoy yourself and don’t waste your time worrying about what you are or aren’t doing.

All of the amazing photos included in this essay are taken from the awesome website pexels.com.

© Annemaree Jensen 2018