Dump the cliche

Women can be their own worst enemies.
Why do celebrity types, after being dumped by their husbands or boyfriends, wait a year and then come out with "I Learned To Love Myself After [enter dumpster's name] Left Me" media blitz?
Usually these women have lost quite a few kilos, have accepted that their dumpster is now dating - or has married - someone who's 100 years younger than him, and are getting all giggly about the prospect of returning to the "dating game".
Just do it OK? Shut up about it.
These stories are not inspirational, well not to me at least. They are based on a cliche that's trotted out all the time in magazines and the "chattier" (see "white noise") sections of newspapers and the TV news.
You rarely, if ever, see dumped celeb men paraded in this way. Apparently they are allowed to get fatter, or skinnier, go silly with their mates and generally carry on with getting over being rejected without the nation judging them. Then, in time, maybe our hero will meet someone, maybe he won't. Amazing.
All this goes on without lame stories about these poor dumped blokes undergoing extreme manscaping to make themselves more attractive to the ladies, starving themselves or wondering aloud if anyone will ever love them again because, after all, they aren't that young anymore.
Maybe these dumped men have been approached to tell their story, but said no.
There's an idea. Just say "NO". A single word with so much power.
Yes, being dumped is horrible and can tear massive holes in your self worth, but this crap hurts women more.
Ladies, it's time to dump this cliche.
C'mon, I'm sure you always suspected it was a stupid, boring, good-for-nothing presence in your otherwise fabulous existence.

Face it, it's a minefield

I don't think I am alone when I say Facebook drives me nuts.
It messes with my mind, makes me laugh,  makes me cry, makes me sentimental, grumpy, nauseous, bored, mystified and confused.  And, on the odd occasion, I can experience all these feelings at the same time.
Facebook can do that.
With just a tiny tweak of the scroll bar, you can be engaged by an insightful comment, snorting with laughter over a friend's drunken selfie or stupid joke, chuffed about how deliriously happy a girlfriend looks on her wedding day, gutted by news of someone's passing, enamoured by the first photos of mate's baby, shocked by a news grab about another atrocity in the world or mystified by a post that can be described only as social road kill: you want to look away, but it is so compellingly bad that you just have to give it a closer look and maybe a sly prod to see if it really is that stinking awful.
It reminds me of the TV, except you know the stars of these shows (or at least know them through another friend who went to primary school with a bloke who remembers your brother who beat him up in the playground for stalking you at play lunch — true story).
And, just like the Idiot Box, you could always just switch it off. But only the strongest among us can turn away from the passing parade and never look back.
I have ditched Facebook a few times, only to be happily reconciled a week later.
I stood strong until someone mentioned that I was missing a bit of niggle between two acquaintances and, like a cork on the tide, I was inevitably drawn back.
I was talking to a friend today about starting a Facebook court where you could ban 'friends' for a certain number of days over various indiscretions. Each person would have to make up their own rules as tolerance levels of "sharing" vary — just like pain.
 For example, some might genuinely be interested in what you are preparing for lunch or dinner (usually with a pic). Others would find a soggy tea towel more engaging.
Here is my list of indiscretions that will attract a ban (one to 10 days, depending on severity and frequency)
Posting what you are having for dinner: just to clarify, if it is a saveloy with a few peas, or any variation on the three-veg-and-meat theme, you are banned for a few days. If it is from McDonald's or any of his mates, same penalty. If it is a photo of the only sausage left after you accidently set the kitchen on fire, that's OK. If it is a lump of chilli con carne that looks like Elvis, that's freaking unreal.
Posting a pic of your child doing nothing: c'mon they have to be doing something mildly interesting, or at least wearing a silly outfit or a bucket on their head. Not just, sitting/standing/staring at nothing in the backyard. Interest factor: nil for anyone not known as "nan" or "pop". This rule does not apply to photos of anyone's dog, as dogs are always interesting — especially mine — remind me to post the latest photos of them sleeping and chewing on their toys, awwww.
Posting that you are feeling sick: everyone knows you are hoping the boss will read it, making your 'severe gastro bug' seem less bogus.
Couples over-sharing details of mini-breaks: call me crazy, call me envious, call me heartless, but I don't care if you and cutie-pie went to a seaside B&B and ate lobster and drank spumante on your private deck. Actually, the only people who might be interested would be Facebook stalkers who take an unnatural interest in their ex-partners' activities.  If you post a photo of anything to do with you and your latest squeeze in a hot tub, you are banned for life.
But, I have a few loopholes: if any of the pictures are of you and Daniel Craig or George Clooney on a mini-break in Paris/Rome/Lake Como, please share them with me because you are a legend ... and I wouldn't mind to see the odd shot of them (just them, mind you) in the aforementioned 'banned' hot-tub.
I will throw out this rule completely if Mr Craig surprises ME with a trip to New York. In which case, all 1,000,000 of my devoted Facebook friends will be flooded with details and photos, as they will be THAT fascinating.
I'm sure there are more indiscretions, but I have the attention span of a budgie these days owing to my whirlwind life on the social network.
It's such a random place where everyone is clamouring to be seen and heard ... but I guess that's just life.

Op-shop OMG

Question: What's creepier than a clown?
Answer: A clown with a yo-yo.
Freaking out the kids has never been cheaper ... this joker is just $4 from my local op-shop (aka thrift shop).
I'm pretty sure it's from the Wayne Gacy Kids Collection.

More hearts than you can poke a cattle prod at

I've just returned from outback South Australia where I was taking part in a documentary about women from different walks of life learning to become jillaroos.
 I won't go into the details of my brush with the world of film-making and farm work just yet, as I am still a little shell-shocked and trying to process all the sights/sounds and experiences of what turned out to be a mammoth month — mentally and physically.
Watch this space ...
But, I am happy to report that I won a few hearts.
Three to be exact: I was given two stone hearts retrieved from the red dirt (one is included above, the other is so tiny that it would not have shown up in a photo) and a rustic tin heart with my initial on it.
 I bought the fancy red one myself, so that doesn't count.
These random hearts were given to me by people who barely knew me. But their timing, in each instance, was impeccable.
As if on cue, these sweet little symbols turned up just when I needed to show some ticker.
How heartening.

Love set in stone

On a recent camping trip to the country, I made it my mission to find a little rock shaped liked a heart.
 I got the idea from one of my favourite blogs, Farmgirl Fare. Farmgirl Susan owns a remote farm in Missouri and documents the daily happenings involving the animals and work on her property. She also is a passionate cook and shares some really great recipes. While working around the property she keeps an eye out for heart-shaped rocks.
 I have been searching for my own version for months.
I must confess I didn't find this little beauty above, a junior member of the family did.
She spotted it near our campsite after I had left for home.
It found its way to me today.
 Thanks little one,  I'll keep it forever.
 It seems a good heart is hard, but not impossible, to find.

This time it's personal

 I have been wanting to read these two books for a while and I got the chance over Christmas. I read Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat Pray Love" first, then Judith Lucy's "Drink Smoke Pass Out".
I felt as if I was the only person in the world who hadn't read "Eat Pray Love", what with all the hoo-ha about its phenomenal success. Actually, I suspect a large proportion of Gilbert's critics on the net have barely managed to read the cover of her book.
Anything that is a success these days attracts swift criticism — positive and negative.
 Opinions on any subject imaginable are dumped on the internet every second. It's like unprocessed landfill. If you want to wade through it you have to hold your nose, trawl through the rubbish and not be afraid to discard or pick up things that catch your eye.
Books, like music, attract such ardent lovers and haters.
It's personal, you see — like these two books.
And this is my opinion: I loved both of them.
Here are two people, and they just happen to be women, who are describing what it is like to embark on a spiritual journey. A lot of people are quick to deride and dismiss anything that is called a "journey", but that is exactly what it is. It's a good word and an accurate description of what it feels like when you are exploring the great unknown that's both inside and beyond you.
Some have no interest in going down that path, some do. Get over it.
It's personal.
Critics can bang on all they like about what they consider to be privileged women embarking on a "self-indulgent trip of self-discovery". The knives really come out when these authors happen to make money out of it. There's nothing like money to get the haters bent out of shape.
Spiritual journeys are universal and come in many forms. It doesn't matter if you live in the "first world" (whatever that is) or the second, third or fourth world. If you are on that trip, you're on it. You don't need a passport, don't need money ... you already hold the ticket.
I've been travelling a spiritual path for years. I've probably been on it all my life. It's just something I do. I don't discuss it unless someone asks me about it, or if I am talking with someone who is going through a similar experience.
It's funny when certain people try to analyse or "understand" what you are doing (like that kooky chakra balancing, crazy kinesiology or meditation ... all clearly the work of snake-oil salesmen).
It seems as if they need you to justify why you are doing it.
I tell them to not concern themselves with my business and that it's just "The Vibe" (wise words from Guru Dennis Denuto).
I'm off to Keep Calm and Carry On.
Peace and love.

Indiana Jones never wore lycra

Here's a job option: archaeology.
But, besides years of study, it seems there is a new "fitness" component.
Actually, I might just stick to marathon running.

*Random magazine courtesy of my favourite op-shop

Life: streaming now in real-time

I spent New Year's Day up the creek.
 It was an odd choice considering I ended 2012 up Unemployment Creek without a paddle.
As I cooled my heels in Craven Creek, at the foot of Barrington Tops NSW, I realised paddles were over-rated.
 I was content to sit and watch the driftwood, leaves, berries and flowers flow by to who knows where.
The butterflies still led a merry dance, a bossy male fairy wren kept his harem in check on the bank opposite, the flies carried on as usual and a few crimson rosellas dropped in for a drink and a chat.
But my feet, the same ones that brought me here, were still ... as were my heart and head.
It's almost time to get going. I'm ready to explore what's around the bend.
But this time I'll have a spring in my step.