It's Just Like Riding A Bike

Ha! Well, what exactly does that mean when you've never learnt how?

Meet Greta, my new partner in crime.

Gorgeous, I know. That's why I picked her!

On some level I knew that, having only theoretical knowledge of how to ride a bike, it wasn't going to be quite as simple as hopping on and pedaling. I guess I just didn't realize how hard just hopping on and pedaling would be.

I woke up on Sunday super keen to give it a go. It wasn't raining, so I put on my daggiest trackies, got Greta out of the store room, and marched off to the park. I decided to set myself up in the front end of the park where there was a patch of grass that was relatively flat and wasn't full of dog walkers. I hopped on, got my footing, and then realized a series of things:

• Greta has six gears...which one did I need to be in?
• How do you go from standing still to moving?
• How do I turn my lights on?

Honestly, the falling was the only thing I could successfully manage. I spent a good half hour falling. And yes, I looked like a dork, and yes, random people looked at me like I was insane and occasionally openly laughed at me. I was quite the spectacle, and I knew that, and I was OK with that.

What I hadn't given any consideration to was where I live and who was likely to see me making a fool of myself on a Sunday morning. Yeah. I live in the gaybourhood. And being single again, I've put myself back into the ether of online dating. So of course as I was making a fool of myself when someone who I had recently been chatting with walks by. D'oh!

As if that wasn't bad enough... enter the creepy older man. He arrived at the park shortly after I did, and I quickly got the impression that he was overly interested in me. Ostensibly he was jogging, but after his second lap he stopped and asked me if I wanted some help. And for some reason I said, "Yeah, sure!" D'oh!

He spent several minutes suggesting that I move onto a flatter surface than grass, even though doing so would be scary as falling would hurt a lot more. Having just spent half an hour falling over, I was well aware that I'd land on my feet when I lost my balance. So I was like, "Yeah, thanks for the tip, I'll do that." And then he repeated it all over again. He asked me how long I've been living in Australia, and if I planned to stay. I told him how long and said I wasn't sure about staying at this point, he couldn't imagine why.  Then he advised me that as I was clearly going to fall over and look like an idiot and anyone who say would laugh at me and have a go at me, because Australians like to take the piss. Like I hadn't figured that out in the three and a half years I've been here! And then he violated Greta.

Yeah, I won't be taking her out on my own again! I've got a friend who is going to come out with me and help me properly acquainted with Greta, we just have to figure out a time. Until then, pretty she sits, waiting for me to take her for a ride.

Socks Code of Conduct

OK, so I know that this is weird and pedantic and all that, BUT! I have a real issue with socks. I don't know why, but I do. And it's not just one of those crazy quirks that I can apply to myself and not judge others by the same standards. Oooh no! I judge people by their socks. I know it's stupid, but when someone tells me they willfully break my sock rules, I reassess why this person is in my life.

I'm writing about this today because I have quite accidentally broken one of my sock rules, and I didn't realize it until it was much too late! I did not mean to leave the house in the socks I am wearing, and now that I have realized this, I will be self conscious for the rest of the day.

So what, exactly, are my sock hang-ups? Well!

1. Mismatching socks - I get distressed if I'm wearing two mismatched black socks, I cannot imagine how someone could go through life wearing completely different coloured socks.
2. Dirty socks - Some things can be worn more than once before they need a wash, but not socks. I would rather go without socks than have to re-wear a dirty pair. Though in a similar pinch, I will re-wear dirty underwear.
3. Toe socks - This is just a whole world of wrong and I don't know how to deal with people who wear these. Also, toe rings. There is never an acceptable time to wear toe rings.

OK, so it might just be those 3, but they do truly repulse me. Honestly, I prefer to go without socks, but that is not always the weather appropriate option.

My breech of conduct today has to do with Rule #2. You see, it's been getting chilly at night and my body has a tendancy to stop supplying my toes with any blood when I'm cold, resulting in my having blue toes during winter. I have realized that this can be prevented if I wear socks to bed (I used to have a rule expressly forbidding this, but needs must I dropped it). Normally I sleep in really thick wool socks that I would not be able to wear a shoe over, and hence, never leave the house in my bedtime socks. But lately I've been using a pair of just regular wool socks, which I do wear in my shoes during winter. And this morning, I forgot to change my socks. Now my feet are overly warm and I feel like an embarassment to society.

In un-sock related news... I've got my new computer. It probably would be quite exciting, except I reached my download limit on my internet at the same time, so I haven't actually been able to properly set up my new computer. Also, I didn't want to have to buy a new computer, so I wasn't super thrilled about it anyways. It's a netbook, which is another reason I'm not super thrilled. But, it is super light and tiny, and so it will be handy for working on the go. I'm sure I'll come around to it in time.

Phobia

Phobias. Everyone's got 'em. An irrational fear of something. And today I came face to face with mine.

So what is it that turns your normally brave and adventurous narrator into a quivering pile of girly screaming jelly?

Death? No, I like being alive but I'm not afraid to die.
Public speaking? Makes me nervous, but that is all.
Spiders? Nah, we're cool. I've killed red backs and white tails without so much as a squeal (though disposing of the bodies is another story altogether...)
Heights? Nope, I'm not the person with the white knuckles gripping the rail.
Balloons? No, I'm quite fond of balloons.
Clowns? I never read that particular Stephen King book...

Bees. Bees scare the fuck outta me. Bees and wasps.

I don't know why these little honey makers fill me with sheer panicky terror. I'm not allergic to them (and if I was, it wouldn't be a phobia, it'd just be sensible). I've been stung enough to know its not the end of the world. Nevertheless, I am absolutely terrified of these little creatures. Over the years I've gotten a bit better with bees. I know they won't sting me unless provoked, so I can generally control myself enough to not shriek and duck for cover and wet myself. Wasps...I generally freeze, turn white, and start dripping big beads of sweat until they fly off or whoever is around me goes "Oh for fuck sake!" and gets rid of them for me.

I haven't had any close encounters with bees or wasps in quite some time. Long enough that I was starting to wonder if maybe my phobia of them is more habitual than genuine. Oh no, it's genuine!

I was walking home from the grocery store this afternoon, listening to my ipod, lost in my thoughts, when I something on my shirt caught my eye. Closer inspection revealed that A BEE was sitting on my boob! It looked happy enough, sitting there, having a rest, enjoying the breeze blowing over it's horrible furry body. Meanwhile, I was coming to terms with the fact that my worst fear was sitting on my boob and I was gonna have to deal with it on my own.

My first instinct, I shit you not, was to just get the fuck outta my shirt and run like hell. Not run like hell because I would then be standing on my street in the middle of the afternoon in my bra, but run like hell to get away from the shirt, which I would never, ever, ever come back for. But I had my headphones in and if I pulled my shirt off, it would've got stuck in them. So, with my shirt halfway off my back, I changed strategies.

I tried to shake it off my shirt, praying that this wouldn't result in it flying up into my face as then I would have burst into tears and started pleading with God to spare my life (again, not allergic to bees). The bee, for it's part, sought out less shaky ground and started crawling it's way up my shirt, towards my face. Again, my shirt almost came off, and I started pleading, out loud, with the bee to please, please just get off of me.

The thoughts rushed through my head: "Why did this have to happen to me when I'm all by myself? Lady Cop is meant to be protecting me from this very fate! Damn her for not being here! Look, it wouldn't be the end of the world to just leave the shirt and the groceries and whatever else behind to get away from this bee. Who cares who sees me?"

I had about 5 seconds to get the bee off my shirt before I said "fuck it" and got the shirt off of me. I grabbed a stick off the ground and bent down so I was close to the ground, gave the bee a flick, and resumed breathing. It was off. And with any luck, it was too confused about what had just happened to be angry with me. I grabbed my groceries and headed home, shaking like a leaf and hyperventilating. Seriously, I didn't shake that much when I got mugged.

Do I feel braver for having successfully confronted my biggest fear? HELL NO! It was AWFUL and I can assure you I will be just as big of a panic stricken baby if it ever happens again. All I can say is thank goodness I live in Australia where any passers by would likely assume I had a rather deadly spider on my shirt and that my reaction was quite sensible.

Lost In Translation

Have you ever walked past a store display and seen the most amazing outfit that was just so beautiful and looked so good that you just had to rush in and put it on, because it will make you look like a Hollywood starlet? And then you find it in something that resembles your size and contort yourself into it, all the while thinking how life changing this outfit will be? And then you look in the mirror and are faced with the cold hard reality that you look like a circus freak?

M'hmm. We've all been there. You need...

Joni's Top Ten Style Tips #2: Dress for your body type!

My hope is that you are reading this going, "Come on Joni, couldn't you think of something original? We ALL know this!" But, if wishes were horses I'd still be competing in gymkhanas. Even though this message has been jammed down our collective throats for so many years now, I think it's a message that bears repeating. Because, if you're anything like me, then even though you know full well that 3/4 length pants make you look like a hobbit, every summer you still buy a pair.

We all come in different shapes and sizes, which means that what a size 12 dress looks like on one person won't necessarily be what it looks like on another person. It is also why we get that circus freak phenomenon I referred to earlier. Different styles suit different shapes, regardless if you're a size 2 or 22. I get the circus freak phenomenon when I forget that I have hip and try on something designed to make curveless women look like they have curves.

There are endless style guides that will explain how to figure out what your body shape is and how best to dress for it, so I am not going to attempt to educate you What Not To Wear style. You're a big girl, you can figure it out. All I'm saying is, FIGURE IT OUT! Then make yourself your own style guide with all the helpful tips you've found so that you never look like a circus freak again!

Have you mastered that now? Good. Time for Phase Two!

Our shape and size changes over time. We lose weight, we gain weight, we start going to the gym and build up muscles we didn't have before, maybe we gain hips or boobs or ass that were previously missing. However we change, the point is that our shape and size will change. So once we figure out how to dress for our body type, we have to keep an eye on ourselves to make sure our body type is still that which we have learned to dress for.

Now, if there's one thing I can't stand it's when people are insecure about their bodies. Everybody has flaws, and if everybody would just stop obsessively pretending like it's possible not to have flaws, we'd all be better off for it. In the meantime, I'll be at the pool, traumatising the mothers of small children while I walk around the change room in my underwear (true story).

People, women especially, often make some pretty horrible fashion faux pas in an attempt to hide their fat. They may have a lot of fat, or they may need a mental health check and several gallons of ice cream. What they have in common is that they are wearing the wrong size!!!

Now, I must admit, I am currently guilty of this. I have been steadily losing weight for awhile and am now in a position where most of my clothes are too big for me. I recently bought 2 pairs of jeans, and one of them is the right size, the other is a size too big. But, since I am both poor and have every intention of losing more weight, I'm hardly in a position to go out and buy a new wardrobe. So yes, I know I am being hypocritical, but I also know what I'm talking about when I say:

Wearing the wrong size clothes makes you look fat!

For some people, the idea of wearing a size (or 2 or whatever) above what they normally wear is just too much to bear. So, they keep on squeezing into something that just don't fit. Lady, EVERYONE CAN TELL! It's so stupid, because if you just buy something in the proper size, even if you have put on weight, you'll look good and people will be way less likely to notice. If you want examples of this, check out People of Walmart.

For others, the offence is wearing baggy clothes to try and hide the rolls. Congratulations! You now look twice as fat as you actually are! A few years ago I had bought a pair of jeans while on vacation in NYC. I was in a hurry, so I didn't fuss too much with the size. The jeans were always a bit big on me, but my weight was going up and down at the time, so it was nice to have some more roomy jeans on hand. Well! It got to the point where I could step in and out of them without undoing them, and when I pulled on the thigh, let's just say that there was enough material for a lot more thigh. They were so big on me that it wasn't even like they sat loosely on me. They didn't sit ON me at all! I was shocked to realize just how awful I looked in them, and promptly threw them out.

So please, for the love of Gaga, wear the right size. And if you are going through shape/size transitions, of course it would be ridiculous to buy a whole new wardrobe before you reach your goal. But please, a) get rid of the worst offenders (I think a 1 size +/- buffer is fair game); b) when you do go out to buy new clothes, try on a few different sizes to make sure you've got the one that fits you best; and c) these days, jeans are stretchy, so, if they're a bit tight, that's probably the right size.

Thus concludes #2 of Joni's Top Ten Style Tips. Happy Styling Everyone!

Wardrobe FAIL!

Having a sense of style may be in breach of the Lesbian Code of Conduct, but ladies, some rules need to be smashed to itty bitty teeny tiny bits!! Also, ladies of Melbourne, while I must admit I do think you look hot, butch chic is not the only look there is. Just sayin'.

I have it on good authority that I have a pretty good sense of style. Aside from the "oohs" and "ahhs" I get from my colleagues, I get compliments from strangers on a pretty regular basis, and, my all time favourite, when I was doing that summer intensive in San Francisco one of the women came up to me and said, "Just so you know, what we talk about behind your back is great you dress." TRUE STORY! It's great to have the reassurance because the thing with fashion is, you take risks and sometimes they pay off, and sometimes they fail in oh so very epic ways.

Also, it's nice to hear that people think I put together a pretty good outfit considering that the majority of the time I do conform to the Lesbian Code of Conduct and just wear jeans, runners, and a plain (though colourful) shirt, have kinda greasy hair, and am not wearing any make-up. What can I say? I'm a woman who loves extremes.

Lately I've been thinking about my sense of style and what guides me in my wardrobe choices. And, inspired by my brother's epic music blogging, though down scaling it to a manageable project because I'm not insane, I have decided to share with you, dear readers, my Top Ten Style Tips! Over the coming weeks I will write a blog post about each of my Top Ten Style Tips, and then maybe you too can have people say lovely things about you behind your back on your next trip to San Francisco, or wherever. So that is COMING SOON!

It maybe would have started today, except, today I decided to get all dolled up only to have a wardrobe malfunction that required emergency measures to be taken!

Now, I love wearing skirts. Love love love skirts! But, I think the stats are something like 70% of the time I wear a skirt I end up with it hiked up around my ass as I'm walking down the street. In fact, I have a rule now that if I am going to wear a skirt, I must wear nice underwear because probably I'm going to be showing them off to everyone with eyes (sneak peak: there'll be more on that in my Top Ten Style Tips!) This happens to me enough that I have stopped being particularly embarrassed about it.

Last year I made an especially good show of myself. It was spring and I was enjoying the warming weather. I was wearing one of my favourite skirts, that has a particularly appealing movement to it. From my experience as an undergrad I had learned that when wearing a skirt and carrying a heavy bag, care needs to be taken so that the skirt does not ride up. All day I had taken care to avoid this. But the day was over, I was on my way home, feeling great about life, and feeling confident that I looked great. I had my big 'ol headphones on and was lost in my own little world. I got off the tram and started on my kilometer trek home, stopping at the milk bar for some soy milk on my way. I had a spring in my step and was tossing my long, golden mane of hair in the wind. Some guy across the street was yelling at me, but whatevs, I had my music on and I didn't care what he had to say. It wasn't until I was about to turn into my driveway when I felt the breeze on my bum that I realized what the guy across the street had been yelling at me: "Oi, love, pull yer skirt down!" Whether it had rode up when I got off the tram or when I stopped at the milk bar, I'll never know.

Today I decided I was going to break out a skirt and show some skin, though hopefully not my entire backside. After much deliberation I decided to go with my grey dress and blue-green jumper with these gorgeous grey art deco tights I had not yet worn. I accessorized with my latest awesome hat - a 1930's inspired Beret the same colour as my jumper, a long string of faux pearls, and my "OMG they're reduced by how much?" John Fluvogs. I looked decidedly awesome. The only trouble was, the art deco tights seemed to be some sort of low rise tights that were barely staying up.

Despite the tingling of my wardrobe malfunction spidy senses, I decided that my outfit was too amazing to change and I that I would just make due with the droopy tights. Well, that would have been all fine and dandy if they had actually been drooping instead of rolling down my legs! By the time I crossed the street to the bus stop I knew I was in trouble. But, not wanting to miss my bus, I soldiered on.

I was taking my computer in to get repaired, so I took the bus to Sydney Rd and then walked a couple of blocks down to the repair place. Only, by this time my tights were rolling dangerously low and I was worried they'd soon be around my knees. So I clutched my sides and practically ran into the Barkly Square toilets where I was able to take off the offending tights. Fortunately, I was able to pick something up cheap at KMart to get me through the rest of the day. My outfit is decidedly less awesome without the art deco tights, but, all in all it's still pretty good. Now, if only I could start listening to these warning bells when they go off!