The female midlife crisis – a year on

It’s getting better, this midlife crisis business. I guess the definition of crisis means it has to peak somewhere, then you come down the other side. Yesterday was my 36th birthday, so I pulled on my big girl boots and hit the shops for my Botox, my dermal filler, a good nail shellacking and a waxing to take my womanhood back to girl-land. Did I WHAT.

In actual fact, I hit the shops with my tired face, in my tired denim skirt and old singlet, to buy a SPARKLY spangly sequinned shift dress for my friends’ wedding next month, on sale, with birthday money. A free dress! That makes me feel a million bucks! And has room for dancing AND 2 helpings of dessert! Bite me, Botox. Then I had lunch and a glass of champagne with my mum. Who has time to sit in a stinky nail bar?

I feel like I have a purpose again. Last year I felt in the middle of nothing. Adrift. Half of many things, but a whole of nothing. Apparently I wasn’t alone, as it’s still one of the most clicked-on posts on this blog. I’m still probably in the middle of this crisis, but I think this is the fun part now, where I’ve stopped the sorrowful naval gazing and can get on with doing all the fun and age-inappropriate things, while embarrassing those around me.

I haven’t lost any of my flexibility, which is a blessing and a curse. Yoga teachers love me. Yoga students hate me cos I wander in sporadically then go all bendy benderson on their arses. But stuff also just pops out when it feels like it, and is starting to get quite achy when it’s not in the right place, now I’m older. Still makes for a good time killer to amuse the other team members when the team meeting takes a while to start. Oh – and a lovely photo for That Man to have on his phone of his wife on her birthday.

Freak.

Freak.

Now I’ve hit a new age demographic and the next tick-box on the form, I’m going to try a more subtle and veiled look in photos, to obscure the fine lines creeping in. Glasses and hair aren’t quite cutting it anymore. I need to incorporate a few props, and use the beauty of nature to my advantage. Kind of like this.

Looking so hot right now, ASOS girl. I'm taking notes.

Looking so hot right now, ASOS girl with your plant hat. I’m taking notes.

I got a skateboard for my birthday, and an awesome hoodie, cos my husband is sick of me stealing his. (The hoodie- not the board). Wanna see? It’s SO pretty. I think I’ll carry it around some places before I have to look stupid trying to ride it. In your FACE, birthday.

Very pretty skateboard. Still undecided if I'll ride it or just walk around carrying it.

Very pretty skateboard. Still undecided if I’ll ride it or just walk around carrying it.

Since the 35th birthday loomed large, MANY THINGS HAVE HAPPENED. But I made them happen instead of them just happening, which has helped with the disconnected feeling.  I’ve been interviewed on the radio (about this blog), done trapeze, put my kid in jumper pants when she had no spare undies, got a full-time job, ran away to Melbourne to a very rainy concert in the Yarra with my girls from high school, was waxed to look like an upside down Bruce Willis, swore off being waxed ever again, been inappropriate more times than I can count, visited Rachel from The Very Inappropriate Blog and Sarah from Slapdash Mama (my blogging Kindred Spirits) in Brisbane, and sung karaoke not once, but twice (if you count what I did on Saturday night singing…)

I feel much more in control, being so out of control. It’s a controlled, middle-aged lack of control. You have to book and plan these activities. Plan babysitters. Not drink during the week.  I have no porsche yet, but I’ve been driving That Man’s Hilux any chance I get, which is much more fun that the silver mumsmobile (Sir Forrest the Forrester). Clearly I’m not quite out the other side yet… thank God. I have a lot more irresponsible-making planned for the year ahead.

If you have any particular ideas for me, shoot them through, ok? I’m up for a challenge. Is anyone else living in midlife crisis land?

xx

 

 

Meat. Man meat. Get your Weber here.

My mid-life crisis shake-up has turned into more of a mild vibration of late. I disappoint myself. No trapeze, karaoke, or radio interviews to report this week. Instead? Only some advice for those who, like me, find themselves in their mid-30s and beyond. DO NOT approach this time and think that vegetarianism is a good option. You’re a woman. You need meat. Man meat. Today, for crisis shake up, we’re just going to wobble our eyeballs.

Sorry, it’s the most I can muster after scraping myself back up from the school holiday funk. I’ve had all the yelling, crying, and stomping I could handle for the past fortnight. The girls did their fair share as well. If you’re a man? I apologise. The ensuing objectification of men is despicable and in poor taste. But this is a BBQ today, so, I had to bring a plate. This is all that was in my freezer.

Today we will not eat our vegetables. Did you know the Australian region produces some of the finest cuts of meat in the world? Prime for export, we ship them internationally, yet they boomerang back home, because, well… if the man meat is fine, what do you think our Aussie chicken is like? You and me girls. Top quality. Rub us in marinade and we’ll be even more tender tomorrow. Today we peruse a veritable smorgasbord of sportsmen, beginning with Mark Webber, the Roger Ramjet of Formula 1 racing.

'What? You say there's an extra 'B' in my name? But I'm WEBER. Man of grill. No?'

‘What? You say there’s an extra ‘B’ in my name? But I’m WEBER. Man of grill. No?’

It’s a shame, really, that the only time we see him is in a helmut, with a white skin thing underneath, then inside a roll cage, then inside a car. Stupid sport really. NEXT!

What else is on the man grill? Adam Scott. Golf is a little thin on the ground with men worth cooking. Not because they are lean cuts of meat, however. Oooooh nooooo. You’d think with all that walking that they’d be a bit more, um, heart smart. Have the BBQ tick of approval, so to speak. ‘Tis ok though, dear eyeballs. Adam Scott is here.

I'm not going to make a joke about there being a hole in one of whatever that is. No, I'm not. I didn't.

I’m not going to make a joke about there being a hole in one of whatever that is. No, I’m not. I didn’t.

Yes, yes, I understand. He only hits one ball, every so many shots, and you have to watch ALL the other people on the course, and all the WALKING! And all the DUCKS! Frankly, you keep falling asleep. Isn’t there a quicker better way to see something good?

And I tell you yes. Yes there is. You’ll have to learn some rugby though. Just a little bit. Ok, that’s a lie. Learn nothing, but take a girlfriend. Drink beer, and gossip, and watch the big screen. It is more fun if you know who’s winning though. Look out … here comes your rugby union meat conga line…

As much as I can’t ever let the All Blacks win without yelling at the TV, I will equally never miss a game, because of THIS. ONE. MAN. All hail, fillet steak, Dan Carter. But, I can’t show you his face on this blog, because, well… I support the Wallabies. And, there is SO MUCH good stuff right there to show you. I present to you Pat McNabe (who plays for the Brumbies and hence draws my favour):

Brumbies. Like horses, but better.

Brumbies. Like horses, but better.

Will Genia (from the Qld Reds)

will-genia7_opt

and I would also put on a pic of Liam Gill, from the Reds, but the poor little dude WAS BORN IN THE 90s and that’s pushing it. Just can’t.

Thanks for joining me for this minute glimpse into the literally hundreds of different choices on offer at your butcher. Er… stadium. So there you have it, meat-eaters. RUGBY IS THE ANSWER. You can have steak, kangaroo, lamb, mince or hamburger, all on the field, 30 at a time. BBQ smorgasbord, with gravy.

Linking with the Lounge, for BBQ Thursday. Yum.

the-lounge-logo

[Images ref: Pat McNabe - Getty images]

xx