Sunday, 26 June 2011

I had to look the word "style" up in the dictionary.

I don't know what my style is and it's freaking me out.

This weeks theme for the Top 50 Bloggers thingy is "style." Which apparently means ".. a manner of doing something."

I've sat here for an hour now, and I don't know what to say. It's like I'm in year 7 again and I have a whole assignment due tomorrow and haven't started it yet.

So, I thought I'd cheat and see what the other four in the top five wrote this week. GENIUS.

Sandra from $120 Food Challenge stole my heart in her style post with the line "I could never take a compliment, not even from a lover."

Simone from Honey and Fizz did a snappy piece on words and images describing her style.

In writing her post out, Kellie from 1000 Homes of Happiness learnt to start trusting her own style.

And Melissa from One Crafty Mumma .... Mel, can you please postpak me that delicious layer cake in your style post? Thanks.

::

So, my style? I don't know. I've never known. I never gave myself a chance to develop it. If the stunning Nikki from Styling You was asked this question, she could answer it in a FLASH. All through my teens and twenties, I felt less than other people. Everybody just did things better .. did life better. I'm almost 40 and I have so much catching up to do.

I was very dorky at school. I was a shadow child at home. I never fit in anywhere .. and discovered the answer was to fit in EVERYWHERE. So I became a chameleon. New school, new town, new job, new friends ...   I could become all things to all people. I was ROCKIN'. Maybe I still am, a bit. That would explain my lump in my throat. (Why is this so hard?! Perhaps finding your style is like, knowing who you are?)

Dave went to bed just then and I said ... "Quick, hon ... what's my style in one word?"

He shrugged. "Funky? Retro? Dunno, hon."

Useless adjectives.

*Throat clears*

I'm a selfish idiot who often thinks the worst of people and is always surprised when they prove me wrong. I'm fascinated about where you go when you die. I adore being a mother but sweet JESUS I've often counted down the years until our youngest will move out of home. Once I have the house to myself I will be so lonely. I always want to wear groovy stuff but feel dumb so just always end up wearing jeans.

I have a rule that because I wear glasses, I can never wear dangly earrings. Too busy. Some days I think I like shabby stuff but then I like 70's things. I love modern. I love vintage. If I could choose, right now, what kind of place to live in, I would love one of those renovated factory studio apartments. With an industrial feel to it. I had utterly no input in our house design or layout when Dave built it. People were shocked, and I was all, look it's just boring to me. As long as the toilet is separate to the bathroom. Did you know, after you flush your toilet .. it takes seven hours for the particles of toilet water in the air to settle? YUM.

Pineapple does NOT belong on pizza. Chocolate does NOT belong in the fridge. I want to give myself a buzzcut but I don't have the balls. Maybe one day. Making lunch is so boring, I often just eat crackers and cheese or baked beans. I'd like to be buried in an environmentally friendly casket that is decorated by my children. The worms can eat me. Totally organic.

I loathed having red hair as a child - now I love it. This year, I finally allowed myself to accept the fact that I will never be super-organised, with a diary. It was so relieving. I often have to convince people that I do not need to drink to have a good time - I believe my brain was fried a while back so I can have just as much fun as you - often more.

EXAMPLE: Last night I went to karaoke with some other bloggers for a Digital Parents meetup at a kitschy karaoke bar in George Street Sydney. I decided it was up to me to get that party started, with a version of Eminem's "Lose Yourself."

             There's vomit on his sweater already - mums spaghetti

Looking back on the photos, I realised I forgot to put my hair up, and my arms were much skinnier in my head than in real life. I crucify myself in my head every single day ... I suspect a lot of people do. Why are we so mean to ourselves?

I discovered a trick to parenting last week - just BE the age of your kid. I wanted to know how Max was, what he thought, where he was at in the world. So, I just turned myself into nine years old, and we had the biggest chats. It was bloody cool.

I love movies that make me think - with imagery that doesn't stand out like dogs balls. I love music that makes me catch my breath. I hate it when you see someone you know in the supermarket and then you keep seeing them in the aisles - that makes me nervous and sweaty. I can sit in recovery meetings and share my darkest things but crumble inside when I have to do small talk with a stranger. I like things that make me feel tough .. leather jacket, cowboy boots, black tops. I need to feel tough. Finding my style is an ongoing crusade. I'm going to be the best-dressed, most decisive 70 year old you've ever met.

::
So, I have two questions.

1) What's your style in one word? (Mine is "haphazard.")

2) Hypothetically, if you were driving a hypothetical gun metal grey Ford Territory on the way home from karaoke and you went through a hypothetical speed camera and saw the flash light up the sky ... would you own up to the hypothetical competition holders? Or wait and see if you can get away with it?
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