I'm getting freaked out just thinking about it.

Sweaty palms - or 'puddle palms' as I have come to call them - are engaged, my jaw is tight, body tense, and prepared for the emergency brace position at a moment's notice.

I have come to hate flying.

It wasn't always this way; in fact, I used to love it. My early experiences with flying included helicopters, six-seaters, even a 1930s biplane, and I adored the rush of floating through the sky.

Then came the long-haul stuff. I started traveling more extensively, and got to know the feeling of being on a 'proper plane'. Still loved it. I actually felt even more secure - with turbulent bumps only reminding me of riding in the back seat of dad's Ford Capri as a child.

Completely safe.

I went from Auckland to Sydney to Auckland to Perth to Phuket to Kuala Lumpur to London to Barcelona to London to Istanbul to London to Prague to London to New York to Las Vegas to London to New York to France to London to New York to London to San Francisco to Las Vegas without a care in the world. And then. Then it happened. I started freaking the fuck out about flying.

I think it's pretty safe to say that most people that have an issue with flying fall into two camps; one, they just have a random, unfounded fear of it, or two, they had a 'bad experience'.

I had a bad experience.

One fateful flight between Las Vegas and San Francisco, one of the more rare occasions when I was actually flying with a companion. A companion who had had even more experience with flying, who I expected would be as cool about the situation as I was.

But no. San Francisco, I guess can be notoriously difficult to fly into, with all the weird weather patterns hanging over the city.

It got bumpy. Real bumpy. Like dad driving over a bunch of potholes at 100km/h bumpy.

Usually, I would have been fine. Except, here's my buddy next to me, FREAKING OUT. Like gripping the seat in front of them, heavy breathing, eyes closed, on the edge of a meltdown.

If they're getting this upset, with all their flying experience, then hell, we're going down.

By the time we landed, I was almost in tears, legs shaking, praising several different Gods for getting me safely back on solid ground.

I knew, from that point on, I was screwed.

I went from San Francisco to Los Angeles to San Francisco to New Zealand to San Francisco to London to New York to San Francisco to London to Tenerife to London to New York to San Francisco to Los Angeles to New Zealand in a state of sheer terror.

When I arrived back in New Zealand this last time, as soon as the plane touched down, I told myself, that'll do. For a good while. Just no more planes for a few months. Just enjoy the ground, and all it has to offer. The ground is good. Things will be nice and safe that way.

And it was. Hey, I'm a kiwi. I'm not meant to be able to fly, right? Waddling is ok for a while.

But a few weeks back, a new client wanted to meet me.

A new client that happened to be located in Wellington; about a six hour drive away from me. Drive? No, you don't need to drive; we'll get you a plane ticket, and you can just pop down for the day.

Are you fucking kidding me.

Not only am I going to have to get on a fucking plane, but a tiny one, flying into the windiest city in the country. Um, fuck.

I tried not to psyche myself out about it as the day loomed, but when it arrived yesterday, it was no holds barred.

My stomach started to knot itself up, my heart started pumping hard, visions of the plane freefalling in a fireball of doom looped through my mind.

Fuuuuck.

The take-off was ugh, the landing was fucking horrendous, the take-off was ok (I sculled a tiny bottle of Merlot) and the landing was terrible (but the wine helped fuzz it out a little).

This is bullshit. I legitmately have sweating palms typing this. I've got a problem.

I don't want to be scared of flying anymore - how can I be? I love to travel, and I don't plan to let a TINY phobia keep me grounded for the rest of my life.

I've got to get back to the glory days - a simpler time, when flying was all novelty and no sweat.

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In my 25 years, I've known great sadness, and great fear.

Otherwise known, to me, as depression and its mate anxiety.

They usually come together, filling me up with uncontrollable, all-consuming emotions, filling my head with thoughts I'd rather not think, pushing me to the edge, leaving me to hang on every day, living a half life, waiting for the pain to stop, wondering if it ever will.

I hate to think how many people could relate to all that. Depression, anxiety, they're both terribly common - I've personally seen countless friends and family members go through it, and it breaks my heart to imagine how many are hiding it, attempting to wrestle themselves out from under it on their own.

See, admitting that you're not right in the head - to yourself or others, isn't easy. It's not like your doctor has tested you for high blood pressure, or an x-ray has revealed a broken bone. It's not simple. It can be hard to understand. You feel sad. You feel alone. You can't sleep. It appears that nothing is physically wrong with you; but it feels like nothing at all is right. Some people don't get that. You might not get that.

And then you finally talk to a doctor. They ask you a bunch of questions, the same questions they’ll ask over and over again, and then they tell you: you're depressed. Maybe you have anxiety too. They'll prescribe you some pills. Which, in itself is frightening enough. You are officially medicated.

What's next? A straitjacket?

The prospect seems all too possible.

It's unchartered territory. You're dealing with something that's entirely in your head, completely intangible. There mightn't be a rhyme or reason for it, it's new, it's scary. And at this point, you have no idea if it's just going to 'come right' one day, or if it's the new you.

I guess you just have to trust that the chemicals are going to fix you. It feels like you're drowning, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. You just have to trust someone, or something is going to save you.

It fucking sucks. You're shit to be around. You sleep, all the time. You find it hard to get through some days without breaking down in tears at the smallest thing. You can spend time with your closest friends, and feel like you're a ghost in the room, looking down on this life that's happening without you, sadness pulsing through you in the place of laughter, or joy.

It feels like it's forever.

The first time, the drugs worked. I was so deep in it, I needed them. I didn't know how else to do it. All I wanted was to feel normal again. And I was too scared to do it on my own.

But once I felt better, I couldn't wait to get off them. I just wanted them to get me back on dry land again. I didn't want to depend on them for longer than I needed to.

But it wasn't gone for good. There were flashes of it. Storms that rumbled across my sky, stealing the light, and reminding me of the edge; how close that overwhelming darkness was, always.

And it got me again. A couple of years after the first episode, it was back with a vengeance, quickly, sharply sending me into days filled with crippling panic attacks and nights of insomnia. Rock bottom hit, and once again, I sought chemical assistance. I just needed something for those nights when I was blinded by fear, those days when I couldn't breathe.

The doctor told me I could take them when it got really bad. And yet, when I received the prescription, I couldn't bring myself to take the pills I'd been prescribed. They were stronger than I'd been given before. The names were ones I recognized. Mainstream mental pills. That seemed like a bad thing.

I became determined to get better on my own. Those unopened pill boxes in my dresser drawer were my motivation. Was I being reckless? Maybe. But I didn't care; I had to be stronger than this.

God it was hard. One of the hardest things I've ever done. I barely recognized myself in the midst of it - I was in survival mode. I just had to get through it, and it would get better. I'd pulled through once, I could do it again. My whole attitude to the situation was different this time. I knew what it felt like, and while it hurt just as bad, I knew that it would stop, sooner or later. I saw a therapist, and dealt with issues that I’d never confronted before. 

I can't recall a day that it ended. I didn't just wake up one morning and feel better. It happened gradually. I started to feel happiness again, I started smiling again.

That was over a year ago now. I feel like a recovering addict. I wish I could say I'm 365 days sober, but that's not true. I can still snap back to that place all too easily, maybe just for a moment, but it's still there. It feels like some old, uncomfortable memory, like an horrific accident that I can't forget, a trauma that lies just below the surface. A wound that still hasn't healed completely.

Maybe it never will.

But now, when I feel it, there’s a conflicting force – me, my voice is there, up against it. My mind knows this enemy. I know I can stand up in the face of it. This illness has given me strength, and that strength swells within me when I need it most. The fear, the sadness, it shrinks away.  Good conquers evil.

I've been depressed, and I may well be depressed again, one day. But if it hits, I know it’ll be different than before. I know now that the sky clears, the shadows dissipate, and everything does get better.

I know that light is worth fighting for.

If you need help, please talk to somebody. 

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I’m having a very contemplative, slightly weepy day. Blame it on the a-a-a-alcohol I drank last night, or the fact that it's the end of a long week, but it’s probably the hungover thing, and I’m sitting here in the study, looking out of my little window, classical music playing the theme to my thoughts (because that’s my jam now), and I’m wondering what it would take for me to be a happier person. It's the kind of thing you think about, the day after the night before.

I used to be that really annoyingly bubbly, happy person, but you know how it is – life deals you a few blows, kicks you while you’re down, etc etc and then, bam, you come over all maudlin one sunny Sunday afternoon, questioning where everything went wrong (things may have taken a turn for the worse at the bottom of the bottle of Pinot Gris) and feel like you should write a blog post to make some sense of your inner turmoil.

We all want to be happy - we're addicted to the idea of holding it in our hands, endlessly dedicated to the cult of chasing it. And there's me, this person who, I believe, was once very purely happy, and who, often, shows glimpses of that very enviable emotion, wondering, can I ever be really happy again? Or has life: the things I've experienced, the things I've seen, wrung it out of me?

{Look at me being all happy and business}

Sure, I could spend my afternoon watching Drunk History and browsing pictures of animals dressed in human attire to boost my mood, but I want some inspiration, some properly uplifting shit. A teach a man to fish type of situation.

I want some smart conversation on the topic. With people in my computer.

TED talks to the rescue!

If you’re not familiar with TED.com, it’s a site full of videos of clever guys and gals showing us how smart they are, but in a helpful way.

I'll often bust out a TED session when I'm in need of a bit of motivation or perspective, or to watch that Steve Jobs Standford commencement speech for the eleventy-hundredth time. (The speech that spawned a thousand tweetable quotes, including my favorite bit: "Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice.")

But this afternoon, I have a specific mission. I want TED to make me happy. And I want to achieve this under my particularly trying circumstances: being in the thick of a sad and sorry for myself hangover.

I've blocked out some time, lined up a number of videos on the subject of happiness, and have opened my wine-soaked mind in preparation for an epiphanic moment. And hey, it's cheaper than a therapist.

So, on two hours sleep, here I go, on my way down the road to happiness...

Matthieu Ricard on the habits of happiness

Where better to start than with a 'Biochemist turned Buddhist Monk...sometimes referred to as 'the happiest man in the world'? He's also wearing a dress and talking in a weird accent, so that bodes well.

And then he cracks out the lovely Buddhist perspective on the definition of happiness:

"...well-being (happiness) is not just a mere pleasurable sensation. It is a deep sense of serenity and fulfillment, a state that actually pervades and underlies all emotional states, and all the joys and sorrows that can come one's way."

He explains the concept of 'mind training'; controlling our minds when we feel negative emotions and the benefits of this. He also urges us to treat our minds just like we would the rest of our bodies.

'Can't believe I haven't been doing this already' quote: "This is something that's going to determine the quality of every instant of our lives. We are ready to spend 15 years achieving education. We love to do jogging, fitness. We do all kinds of things to remain beautiful. Yet, we spend surprisingly little time taking care of what matters most -- the way our mind functions -- which, again, is the ultimate thing that determines the quality of our experience."

Graham Hill: Less stuff, more happiness

Argh, I'm such a consumer! I buy things that won't really make a positive, lasting impact on my happiness, and I collect 'things' well beyond my needs.

Could I edit some junk to make myself happier? Maybe. But that sounds like a lot of hard work, and I'm too busy trying to not feel nauseous. I like the concept though. I'll definitely be asking myself at the point of my next purchase, do I really need this? Will this really make me happy? Will I be happy with this item for a long time?

'Aha' moment: We've got to cut the extraneous out of our lives, and we've got to learn to stem the inflow. We need to think before we buy. Ask ourselves, "Is that really going to make me happier? Truly?" By all means, we should buy and own some great stuff. But we want stuff that we're going to love for years, not just stuff.

Dan Gilbert on our mistaken expectations

We compare things to the past instead of the possible, we make silly decisions based on silly comparisons. The video stream crapped out half way through and I was fading so I gave up, but I feel that I better understand what an idiot I am for being tricked by my own incorrect perceptions and the evil marketing ploys of supermarkets. I want a nap now peeze.

'Oh, damn, he's right' quote: "If you're an American, for example, you've probably traveled in France. And at some point you may have met a couple from your own hometown, and you thought, "Oh, my God, these people are so warm. They're so nice to me. I mean, compared to all these people who hate me when I try to speak their language and hate me more when I don't, these people are just wonderful." And so you tour France with them, and then you get home and you invite them over for dinner, and what do you find? Compared to your regular friends, they are boring and dull, right? Because in this new context, the comparison is very, very different." 

Dan Gilbert asks, Why are we happy?

Here's our buddy Dan again, this time gabbing on synthetic happiness.

He says that we have the perception that synthetic happiness (I'll make the best of this situation) is 'not as good' as natural happiness (I got exactly what I wanted), but that's just not true.

"...we have within us the capacity to manufacture the very commodity we are constantly chasing..."

So, do I feel better?

Well. The waves of nausea have subsided, and as I read somewhere in some other flurry of self-helping, you shouldn't judge the success of your life, your situation, or try to make sense of the world when you're just having a bad day. Save it for tomorrow, because everything gets better tomorrow, and you'll have a better perspective to be able to deal with it all.

But after today, I want to try harder at being happy. Put some real effort into it.  Wait, not 'happy'. Maybe some other words like 'content' or 'fulfilled' might be better. Even 'stoked at life', or 'winning'.

I also need to work on not judging older men for wearing turtlenecks, jeans and sandals when giving presentations. I think I have a better chance of being my annoyingly bubbly old self than being ok with that, though, to be fair.

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No matter how much you want to be rich and famous, you're better off than the poor buggers that used to be famous and fucked it all up for themselves.

Like this chick. Tragic.

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God, we're good at making excuses, aren't we?

It's what we do - avoiding things, letting ourselves slack off, gliding through life with intermittent bursts of motivation occasionally occurring on Mondays, the first day of a month, or at the advent of a new year. Or sometimes if someone particularly inspiring gives us a telling off.

Dr. Phil, Anthony Robbins, the sadomasochistic lady-robot trainer from The Biggest Loser, you know the type.

But I'm starting to think it's all bullshit. What are we doing? The way we live our lives kinda half-assed...it's just weak.

• We fuck around when we should be working
• We work at jobs we hate instead of chasing our dreams
• We put off things we need to do (pay bills, get a check up)
• We say no to people, and opportunities for stupid reasons
• We go to the gym, barely get a sweat up and eat shit food
  
• We treat those closest to us like shit because of our own issues, that we're probably not even aware of
• We let our habits rule us, the traits we dislike about ourselves go unchecked
  

It's all just laziness. It's weakness. We are too lazy, too weak to push ourselves, to get our asses up out of our seats, and DO SOMETHING.

I got sick of being this way a few months back - the whole reason I started this blog. I was just tired of being this second-rate version of myself, when I knew I had the potential to be so much more.

It took me a while to get into it, but all the work I've done on myself, all the introspection, the research, the action I have taken to just be a better person, it's all starting to get me somewhere.

My head is in a different place. I'm starting to think like a badass.

See, the dictionary defines a 'badass' as someone who is tough, or aggressive. And I guess my definition is a little bigger than that.

To me, a badass is someone that is focused, someone who kicks ass at life, who is taking names, and just fucking owning it. The hero in a movie in the big fight scene. An olympic athlete as they speed past their competition and win the race. Fucking badass.

That's the mindset. Nobody can stop you, nobody can beat you - you are above it all. You are on a mission, and that's all that matters.

Sure, this is a useful mindset to get yourself into when you're cranking at the gym, or even sitting at your computer working. But living in a constant state of badassery; that's the goal. Everything you do has a reason. You ball so hard, muhfuckas wanna fine you. You don't even know what it means to be lazy. That's the fucking business right there.

I'm a work in progress. I get that. But the way I see it is that you can be the person you want to be. You choose every decision you make each day, every minute, you have the choice to be awesome, or crap. You can go on making excuses for yourself. But what's the point? Who's winning in that scenario?

Getting yourself to badass state right off the bat isn't easy, you have to take baby steps with your badassery. Playing mind games with yourself - ain't no shame in it - just do what you got to do to get it done until it becomes a new, good habit.

{THIS IS ONE OF MY BADASS FACES}

Being lame at work, fucking around and procrastinating?

• If you've got a mental block; can't get motivated, or you're struggling to think creatively, change your playlist to classical music, or at least music you don't know the words to. It blocks out distracting noise but doesn't interrupt your train of thought. Check out my post about getting through a mental block for some more tips.

• Set yourself a time restriction. Imagine you're your own boss, and you've been given a tight deadline to finish the task at hand. Think about how long it would take you to finish the thing you're working on without any distractions, use this online timer, and work your ass off until the buzzer sounds. This is so crazy effective I even use it when I'm cleaning the house.

• Work out what tasks are most important to you, and get them done before anything else -  don't waste your time on shit that's not urgent. It's so much more satisfying to get to the end of the day having accomplished something instead of getting caught up in little insignificant tasks.

Spending your days doing something you don't really want to do?

• Imagine your ideal self 5-10 years from now. Where are you, what are you doing, who are you? Define your goals from that vision. Look at your life as it is now. What can you start doing right this second to put you on the path to your goals if you're not already heading there? Having clear goals gives you this amazing focus, allowing you to shut out the shit that's getting in the way of your dreams, or seeing your current situation as a stepping stone to your future awesomeness.

Putting off health checks or debt because you're too scared to deal with them?

• I know a lot of people that don't see their doctor because they're scared they might find something is wrong. That is possibly the stupidest thing I've ever fucking heard. So many health issues can be treated or cured when caught early, and those same health issues just get worse and worse the longer you leave them. Your health is the most important thing you've got. Don't mess around - if you're worried about something, if you're due your regular check up, just go, goddammit. Same goes for bills, debt - at least if you know the damage, you can deal with it, the unknown is only going to cause you worry.

Find yourself turning down opportunities, or self-sabotaging?

• So many of us suffer from a fear of failure. As described in the book 'What's Stopping You' by Robert Kelsey, we either only do what is easily attainable, or attempt outlandish challenges that no one would judge us for failing at. The cure for this is somewhere in the middle, going after opportunities that are slightly terrifying, but achieveable, if we really set our minds, knowledge and skill to it. Embracing, and being at peace with failure is totally badass.

• Just say yes to shit. If someone asks you to do something socially, if someone offers you a career opportunity, just say yes. Stop thinking about reasons why you shouldn't, and think first about the reasons why you should.

Working out like a lame-ass and eating food you know is bad for you?

• When you've been at the office all day, you feel like a winner just for stepping foot inside the gym. But spending an hour pedalling, lifting, jumping, jogging and stretching half-heartedly is a waste of your fucking time. I'd sit there watching music videos wishing I had a body like Beyonce, and I'm barely getting a sweat up during the one time during the day I have a chance to improve my figure! Now, I workout for real. I spend less time each session doing it, I do it more regularly because it's easier to fit in, and I work my ass off. I'm all about high intensity interval training, doing sprints instead of lame long jogs, or BodyRock workouts instead of mincing about in the gym. Why make excuses, right? You're only wasting your own time.

• Why do we eat bad food? Because it tastes good. Because it's usually more convenient, and cheaper. Because it's pretty damn satisfying to bite into a big chunky bar of chocolate. I don't want to deprive myself. If I want a treat, I'll have it. But eating something just because it's there, or rewarding yourself with fatty food because you've just done a workout is pretty useless. You're making the decision - your stomach isn't in charge. If you think you're going to regret eating it, just walk away. Make an active decision. Don't just mindlessly eat it because it's there.

Do you find yourself being an asshole to your friends and family, being overly negative or acting in ways that you can't seem to control?

• I was anxious all the time. I pushed people away when they got too close. I would snap at the people closest to me. I had low self-esteem. I knew none of that was going to get better on its own, and I knew it was negatively affecting my life and the people around me. So, I went and saw a therapist. I see endless value in sitting and talking to someone about all the stuff you wouldn't burden anyone else with, and really looking inside yourself to see why you are the way you are. It was one of the best things I've ever done.

• Read some books, like Don't Sweat the Small Stuff and even You Can Heal Your Life (maybe not so much on the superhippie stuff), and let all of that self-help goodness just wash over you. They offer some great advice, and when you put it into practice, you'd be suprised about how fast it can make a difference to the way you see the world, and the way the world sees you.

• Look at yourself. Indentify your faults. Work everyday, in every interaction, in every action to be a better person.

Don't wait until Monday morning. Don't wait until it's too late. Start today. Start right now. Start making better decisions. Don't bargain with yourself. Don't allow yourself to have excuses. Kick your own ass. Decide who you want to be, and be that person.

Ask yourself: what can I do today to be awesome? To take myself to that next level - to be proud of what I have achieved? To elevate myself above all the secondary shit that's going on, and just own the day? How can I be badass today?

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Ever find yourself listening to the same music over and over?

Of course you do, you liar - we all do - we're creatures of habit and we like our little comfort zones, eating the same food, seeing the same places and the same people and listening to the same music until suddenly we're like; hey, wait a second, I'm all dull and lame and it was a gradual descent and nobody said anything to me while it was happening and now I'm here and my life is pretty much ruined.

Fear not, friend, I've been there too. I'm actually there right now.

I created a playlist of my favorite songs about a month ago, to listen to instead of the radio when I'm driving, to listen to instead of the sound of my own panting when I'm running. The playlist contained about 20 songs, max. All hip hop.

I've been listening to that same goddamn playlist day in, day out. I could stand in for Lil Wayne in concert should he suddenly be taken ill.

And then there was the bit where I made a nostalgic boyband playlist for a roadtrip last week, and then kept listening to it after the roadtrip had ended. No, no, that didn't happen.

{This is me, just vibing out}

It's madness - all our favorite music services and social networks make music discovery so damn easy; and I'm all baby you know the deal, she bad, so maybe she won't, but then again maybe she will. Uh, yeah, uh.

This is the bit where I embarrass myself. More.

I took to Spotify, and found a couple of trending playlists. You know, see what all the cool kids are listening to. The 'Reddit Top Albums of 2011' looked like a good place to start, so cranked that ish out.

A little Drake, J Cole, Tyler the Creator, Watch the Throne - I got this bitch. Oh, yeah, Childish Gambino, sure thing.

Puscifer? Neon Indian? Laura Stevenson and the Cans?

WTF? Shit. Ok. Breathe.

This is what it's all about. Just give it a listen. You never know, you might like it.

I found a few other ways to find new artists too:

1. Sit there and watch your Facebook feed to see what your friends are listening to, real time on Spotify or Rdio. Don't do anything else, just sit there and watch it. There is literally no better way you can spend your time. You'll be all cultured and current before you know it.

2. Go to youtube.com/charts and see trending music videos. They're usually real new too, so you can sound like you're on the button when you tell your friends you already watched the 'Stupid Hoe' video. Also, if you keep an eye on VEVO, you can be the first to know everytime Chris Brown guests on a rap song. But hey, don't do that.

3. Visit a snobby music magazine website to discover new music, and to form your opinion of the most talked about artists so you know what to say when someone asks you about them. 'The novelty has run dry on their latest EP' or 'If they were a parody of a rock band, they'd be hilarious', even 'She's entirely dull, dreary and pop-starved'. They always have big lists of the 'top this' and the 'best that' too. So just listen to those.

Aaaand I'm sitting here listening to The Dear Hunter. Just waiting for the rap verse to kick in, but it's ok.

Please don't tell anybody I don't know who these people are.

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Wait, I'm all alone? You're leaving me alone?

What will I do for sustenance? Who will laugh at my jokes? Where can I purchase nine cats and a good pair of slippers at this time of night? Does my butt look big in these pants? Please, I cannot proficiently judge the size of my own ass in the mirror, DOES IT LOOK BIG IN THESE PANTS?

No one wants to be alone.

There's a bunch of things you can't do by yourself, and well, it's just a bit sad, really, to be solo. 

{Look at me being all contemplative}

But if you try to avoid being on your own, surround yourself with people all the time, or hop from long-term boyfriend to serious snuggle-buddy to man-friend with benefits, then you're kinda missing out on what it's like to just be by yourself, to be content in yourself, and maybe even love yourself. You pervy weirdo.

I'm guilty as charged. A serial monogamist. And in the rare periods when I'm not monogamizing myself out like the committed, loyal, and loving whore I am, I've still got someone 'on the go' - you know, a prospect; someone I may date. There is always a boy.

The most recent, decent length of time I was 'single' (I wasn't going steady with anyone) took place when I was 17. From there I jumped head first into a four-year first-love epic that was replaced shortly after its end by a long-distance hot mess that I managed to hang on to for almost two years.

And then it ended. My solid 5+ year relationship frenzy ended. And I was faced with being single (and alone) for the first time in my adult life.

Well, suffice to say, it didn't take. In nine months, I only managed brief glimpses of proper solitary existence. I couldn't leave boys alone.

Nine months leads us up to yesterday. And yesterday, I reached the conclusion that I need to be all by myself. Seriously, this time.

Self-sufficient. Independent. Those are a couple of words I quite like, and that I would quite like to use in the context of a description of myself.

You know, maybe to replace 'good cuddler' and 'sexter' for a little while.

So, no boys. A little light flirting at the most. Nothing emotional. For a good chunk of time.

Consider me a nun. Just call me Sister Hannah. That's what my sister calls me, but you can call me that too, and then we can braid each other's hair and play Barbies. It'll be nice. No Boyz Alloud.

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Ok, this is something I seriously, legitimately need to stop doing before I get arrested.

If you can get arrested for snooping on people online.

Can you? Well if you can, then the police need to buck up their ideas because I've been Internet stalking unchecked for years.

I'm pretty sure sneaking a peek at your old school friends' Facebook profiles is common practice, but there's the other kind, the kind of online stalking that's not nearly as healthy, or half as humorous.

Hunting down girls that your boyfriend once slept with/may be cheating on you with or your ex-boyfriend might currently be banging.

Yeah. The kind that turns a normal girl into teary psychotic hot mess.

There's nothing fun about it, it's not voyeuristic - it swings between flagellation and fiendishness, and while I know it's not going to end well, I still do it.

When I've had a boyfriend, yeah, maybe I've had a little dig on girls they're conversing with publicly online, but I've never gone for a sortie into their inbox or private messages. I'm sure things would be a lot more interesting in there, but I just can't cross that line.

And while I broke up with my last boyfriend some months ago, I've still maintained a healthy interest in his life. Particularly his communications with girls in his Twitter feed and Facebook wall.

There shouldn't be much of a problem with doing this really, but I'm known to blow things a little out of proportion. If he's talking to someone, they're blatantly screwing. And then, maybe, I just might get a little upset about it. Occasionally.

Does he know I'm doing this?

Yep. Because I tell him I do it. And he does it to me too.

I think more of us do this than we'd care to admit.

But I'm still trying to work out how messed up it is. When I Googled 'social media stalking your ex' I found an article on an addiction support website, so that was awkward.

However, this kind of behaviour *does* smack of addiction. You know you shouldn't do it, you know it's not going to have a good outcome, it's generally not good for you...and yet you still do it, compulsively.

Eh, but I'm not that bad. I only let myself do it probably once every few days. I'm cutting back.

But really, I should stop it altogether.

I found this article about how to stop addictive behaviour, and while I still think shooting up crack is probably a little bit more of a serious problem than Google Image searches of girls my ex is tweeting, maybe it's worth looking in to.

Well, first off I need to figure out what's triggering the stalking.

I usually do it in moments of boredom. Like right after I finish my lunch. Or when I'm in the middle of doing work.

Or when something reminds me of him.

Yikes.

And how 'intense' is my behavior?

So, I check out all the new tweets since my last visit, and I click through on any handles that look suspiciously like they belong to girls.

It doesn't matter what he's said to them, it only matters that they're female.

If their profile picture looks remotely attractive, then they're in trouble. I'll start snooping on their website or blog, maybe even give them a cheeky Googling.

If they're hot, I'll be all up in their business. Secretly. Sneaky, sneaky.

What self-monitoring systems can I put in place to stop me thinking about it, or doing it?

Mmm...block Twitter?

Ha. No.

What alterations can be made to your daily life to remove opportunities to 'fall off the wagon'?

Not be bored, ever. Ummm...

Shit.

Have you thought about just trying to go cold turkey?

Yes. Just now. Literally just this second.

Crap. This is the issue, see - is that I'm on my computer, on social networks all day long. And he's right there, one click away. It's like sitting an alcoholic in front of a champagne fountain.

What am I supposed to do? Rely on willpower and self-control?

Sure, yeah, cold turkey it is.

I give it a week.

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I'm listening to Bach right now, people.

This is not something I usually do. Nothing against the guy - but he's so 1700s.

However. Here I sit, the sounds of Johann lilting from my laptop - Drake was a hard act to follow, but JSB's doing his best - all because I am stuck, and I read somewhere that this is the best course of action.

I have a creative block.

I can't think of anything. Or rather, everything that I try and think of leads to nothing; a big black hole of nothing.

It happens. A lot, to me, lately it seems, and I think it might have something to do with my working from home, attempting to work for myself.

I'm currently spending time on various projects that require creativity, which I'm ultimately pleased about - but I'm finding, in my start-from-scratch phase, with seemingly endless opportunities and possibilities, that I don't quite know what to do with myself. They say freedom actually inhibits creativity. I suppose that's what's happening to me now. Bloody brilliant.

So I'm listening to Flute Partita in A Minor, hoping something constructive will find its way out of my brain.

I found a bunch of tips for boosting creativity, so here goes. I'm going to try them and all, and see what gets me unstuck.

1. Listen to classical music

Yes, got that one covered, thank you Spotify, and I must say, I feel more focused, and even inspired since switching over from my usual playlist about ten minutes ago. In fact, I wrote everything above this sentence without pause once I hit play on the piccolo. I guess it did something for me.

Did it work: YES!

2. Restrict yourself

Ah, now, to tackle the issue of my freedom. Damn freedom. I feel like I had millions of great ideas when I had no time to execute them, and now, with time that's all my own, I got nuthin'.

Here's a couple of exercises that might rein me in:

Open the dictionary to a random page and pick a random word. Try and incorporate the word with what you're working on.

Picked a sweet random word: questionnaire. And BOOM goes the dynamite, within a couple of minutes, I cracked a concept I'd been trying to figure out for weeks. So simple, but so effective!

Did it work: YES

Limit the time frame you allow yourself to come up with a solution. The pressure might just push you.

Gave myself five minutes to refine the idea, and it forced me to think quick without getting distracted. Turns out that was the perfect strategy for a procrastinator like me.

Did it work: YES

3. Think outside the box/taking the path of most resistance

Alright, figured out another creative problem that needs to be solved, so I'm going to have a go at this strategy - which, in a nutshell, calls for you to go way outside your current field of thinking to come up with an idea that doesn't 'lean' on existing ideas or framework.

Ok, so this one is a little harder to execute. Basically, you're supposed to think really hard, but not about the things you usually think about. Tricky. Despite that, I still came up with a loose new idea, something I probably wouldn't have thought of if I wasn't trying to think differently.

Did it work: KINDA

4. Make music

So, I can't actually play any instruments - unless you include using chopsticks to drop a beat at the dinner table - but I thought my inability would only help as I pushed my brain to do something it doesn't usually do.

Dusted off an old guitar I got when I thought for a moment that I would be a singer/songwriter, and am going to have a fiddle before attempting to refine the idea I had in the previous step.

FIVE MINUTES LATER...

Yeah, so I SUCK at guitar. I looked up some chords, but couldn't figure out which way up they were supposed to go. Now I'm just frustrated. Sexually frustrated. The acoustic guitar is so damn sexy!

Still, the creativity is flowing; I'm almost on fire.

Did it work: I GUESS SO

{the dusty guitar that I made beautiful music on]

5. Exercise your brain with a puzzle

I went to a website made for kids and embarrassed myself, so there's that. Probably shouldn't have left school, but that's another issue.

I definitely got my brain working, so did it help?

Well, it might be the combined effect of all this creativity unblocking, but I just decided on a name of something I've been thinking about for weeks.

Did it work: WELL, ITS EFFECTIVENESS IS A MOOT POINT NOW, HAVING ALREADY COMPLETED SEVERAL TASKS WHICH INCREASED MY CREATIVITY

Alright, that'll do Mozart, that'll do.

I think all that crap seriously helped - I've never tried these tips properly before, but I'm definitely going to use them again. I've come over all productive.

Check me out, I'm going to go do some stuff!

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When you start out online, the first thing you realize is that you're really late into a really crowded market.

All the good domains are gone, the Twitter handles, forget about it. Gone.

You want to blog about social media? You are actually dreaming. Fashion vlogging? Ha! I laugh directly in your face.

If you want to make it on the Internet these days, you have to have a 'thing'; something that sets you apart from the rest.

You need to carve out your own niche, within a niche.

So, here are my five steps to find the real, condensed, marketable, Internet-ready version of yourself. Thank me later.

(As usual, I made a video, if you can't read)

1. Find your inner expert

Firstly, you need to figure out what you know. You don't have to know a lot. Just a little bit more than the average person. Go on, get a pen and paper, make a list and stuff, real legit.

Maybe you studied Japanese in highschool and you can remember how to say 'where is the nearest latrine?'. Good start.

Perhaps you spent an entire summer playing The Sims, or once owned a parakeet. You've posted 83 Instagram photos? This is all really great stuff.

You might feel like you're clutching at straws, but don't worry, there's a niche for everybody, and these ideas are the perfect platform to get you started.

To help you along with this exercise, I've listed below a number of my own areas of expertise. Let's see where that takes us:

• Born in New Zealand in 1986
• Founding member of the now dissolved Peter Andre Fan Club
• Consumed copious amounts of tacos at various eateries in San Francisco

It might not seem like much, but you shut your mouth, it's all I've got. And it's all I need to become the next big blogging sensation. Let's get a little brainstorm going for some blog ideas:

Born in New Zealand in 1986

'poprocksandslouchsocks.co.nz' - A nostalgic look at life from the perspective of an 90s child with a funny accent

Founding member of the now dissolved Peter Andre Fan Club

'KatiePriceisaWhoreWhatWereYouThinking.com' - Bitterly charting the downfall of Peter Andre

Consumed copious amounts of tacos at various eateries in San Francisco

'EatTacoinSF.com' - Mexican food porn and restaurant reviews

See how easy this is? And we're only just getting started!

2. Ask other people what they think of you

Do your friends think you're funny? Does your mum think you're beautiful? Yeah, well those things don't count.

Ask your colleagues what you're really like.

Are you friendly? Straight-talking? A shameless flirt? A bitch?

This will give you a new perspective, and some further insight into your ideal 'brand'.

You'll go from lame old 'social media guru' to 'New York's Favorite Social Media Bitch Whore'.

Winner.

3. Check out your competition

Before you get too excited, you need to check out the lay of the land.

Maybe someone's already stolen your idea (those motherf**kers will do that) or the niche is wide open and flapping about like a set of curtains in the breeze, waiting for you to come in and close the window.

Sussing out your competition will help you figure out exactly where you're going to fit in; allowing you to begin to refine your brand.

4. How to refine your brand

The more variables you can throw into the ring, the less likely it is that someone else can step on your toes.

Say your area of expertise is cat grooming. Well, um, have you been on the Internet lately? That's not going to fly on its own.

Being unique is key. What's different about you that'll make you stand out from the crowd?

Only use organic, vegan products? Sure, that helps. Specialize in feline wigs? Better. Speak fluent kitten? You're in the money.

5. Are you sure?

If you pick out a specific niche for your online efforts, you're going to have to be consistent to eventually become an authority in that niche.

Make sure it's something you're passionate about, and a subject that you could happily explore for years to come.

Or, you know, I'm pretty sure you could just abandon it if you change your mind. No one will notice.

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"I really like this item."

"You can have it, in exchange for money."

"But, how much money?"

"$1,000."

"$1,000? Gees, that seems a little steep*. Ok, here you go."

*Muttered inaudibly

I am constantly being ripped off. I don't blame price hikes or greedy retailers - it's my fault entirely.

I'm basically the same as Obama. He wouldn't neogtiate with terrorists, I won't negotiate with stall holders.

I don't like to cause a fuss, question their pricing, the value of their goods. I just let them tell me the price, and I pay. A salesman's dream.

But there's someone in this situation that's losing out. Duh, me. And I need to get my act together, or resign myself to full-priced purgatory forever.

I decided to check out what the internet had to say on the subject, and here's some stuff in video form:

But wait, there's more. I'll even throw in some more tips for another $30.

• Use the other person's name. It makes them feel like you're buddies and stuff. Just a light peppering though, no need to go overboard.
• Use your spouse as an out. Like; "I'll have to check with my wife,", to make yourself seem like the good guy, and her like a cheap domineering wench.
• Find the manager; don't try and haggle with a lowly retail assistant. We all know they don't have access to the sweet discount codes. 
• Using occasional, mild swear words makes you seem more passionate, and persuasive. I, for one, am sick and tired of these motherf**king snakes, on this motherf**king plane.

           Exactly. Nobody questions Samuel L. Jackson.

Who pays full price for a faux leather bowtie? I do.

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I've never been overweight. Just hasn't happened.

Except maybe the one time when I was about eight months old, sprained my ankle running, and was on the bench for about two months. And then that other time when I was 18 and I discovered the Caramel Macchiato at Starbucks.

But aside from those unfortunate occasions, I've maintained my weight within a few pies for the larger part of a decade.

I love food, but then I also love exercise, and I love kittens too, so I guess everything balances itself out.

However, I'm not going to let old Eating Well and Exercisey take all the credit like they always do, the smug bastards. I believe there are a few other factors that keep me trim, and I wanted to share them with you today.

I'm pretty sure this is going to blow your mind, and your ass off.

{Here's a video in case you can't read}

Never stop fidgeting

Hyperactivity is great for lots of things, like getting several tasks completed simultaneously, or annoying people, but it's especially handy for dropping a few grams.

Right at this second, I'm burning mindless calories - cranking out some serious leg-jiggling under the desk. And when I'm not leg jiggling, I'm clicking my fingers, or just getting up and down from my seat constantly.

Don't take my word for it; here's an article that proves my point with words like 'hypothalamus' and 'molecule'.

Get good genes

This one's pretty important, you know, as a foundation to work with. When selecting your parents, I'd go for a couple with solid health records, no family history of obesity or obesity related health concerns, preferably non-smokers.

Also, as a side note, if you can manage it, pick a pair with contrasting skin tones so you can get yourself a nice little caramel/milk chocolate situation happening. Not imperative for weight loss, but still a bonus when summer rolls 'round.

Have your parents raise you in a gym

When I was about four years old, my parents purchased a gym. Mum was an aerobics instructor, and dad wandered about the place in MC Hammer pants, muscle tees and Reebok Pumps.

They both already had day jobs, so suffice to say, I spent a lot of time at the gym. It was only natural that I'd eventually end up pumping iron, and let me tell you, it did wonders for my puppy fat.

{Here's a picture of my mum taking a 'kids-aerobics' class, with my right there up in the front, like a good little exercise-crazed child. And yes, we are both wearing slouch socks.

Skip everywhere

Walking is for fatties. If you want to really optimize your calorie burning when moving between two points, I find it's really effective to skip. You know, like a child.

Be energetic. Bounce around. Unleash your inner child on unsuspecting friends and family. Tighten your buns!

Hip hop dance breaks

If you're anything like me, you spend the depressing majority of your day sitting in an office chair, at your desk, in front of your computer.

God, it's depressing.

And it's meant to be SUPER bad for you too. All this sitting around.

Sure, I could install a treadmill in my office, but I'm not a giant douche, so, instead, I take dance breaks.

I listen to music all day while I'm working, and you know, sometimes a sweet beat will get dropped and I cannot contain the rhythm within me.

So, I get up and dance. A word of warning: not everyone will enjoy your booty bouncing as much as you do - like your colleagues that are trying to work or whatever. But screw them, they'll die before you.

Dress like a slut

If you wear tight clothing all the time, you've got nowhere to hide.

Walking around in a tight-ass dress that shows your bulgy bits to everybody in your vicinity is a sure fire way to Jillian Michaels your next workout.

The cookie/fruit cancel out

So, I don't know why this works, but it does.

Everytime I eat something a little bit naughty, like a child that's drawn on the wall, or a cookie, I'll eat something healthy right after. It gets rid of the taste of the bad thing, and the memory of it too - so you can forget it ever happened.

And now for my scientific theory:

You know how some people say that the guilt of eating chocolate can make you feel so bad that it makes you want to eat more chocolate because you're a worthless pig?

Well, I think, that by cancelling out the candy, you free yourself from the guilt it gives you, and you can continue on with your day eating healthy, because you were eating healthy all along, right? Did you eat candy? No, what?

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Can males and females really just be friends?

I'd love to answer that question for you today, but as we've been debating it ever since consenual sex was invented, don't hold your breath.

Well, we kinda do know the answer, don't we, but if we were to all suddenly just come out with it, we'd have to completely rebuild society with weird segregation rules and it would be horribly lame and not at all flirty and carefree. Nobody wants that.

So we all just pretend. Any convincing arguments against are quickly dissipated in a fog of denial from both parties. Mostly the females though, we're the delusional scoundrels in all this.

We know men are heavily influenced by their penile appendages in these matters. They want what they want. They go after it. Simple as that.

But we women; we're very calculating about the whole thing. If we come across a guy that we enjoy being around, that treats us favorably; makes us happy and looks out for us, we'll lap it up, but if we don't feel any electricity, we make the decision to call them a friend and be done with it. Back to the hunt, leaving the poor lad in our wake.

You think he's just been hanging out with you because he thought you were a nice person? Reality is, he was probably trying to try it on. Maybe he'll eventually give up, but it's likely his first objective involved smooshing.

Disagree boys? Well ask yourself this: if she arrived on your doorstep in a desperate state, urgently requiring sexual relations, you'd help her out, right? Because you're a good friend!

{I don't know who this guy wearing a cardboard iPhone is. But he was the only guy I have a picture with in my Facebook albums that I don't know, and I couldn't bring myself to use a picture with an actual friend. Now, that would just be awkward. If you are this guy, sorry dude.}

I've had guys try and tell me that if they meet a cool chick, they're quite happy to be friends, just friends with her.

I've had girls tell me they don't have any feelings for their guy friends, it's purely platonic. (More likely to believe them, just quietly)

And many of us manage to have friends of the opposite sex throughout our lifetimes and never once make out with them. Not even a little drunken grope.

But I think we're all lying to ourselves.

Check this out: if I was being completely, utterly, flat out honest with myself - I think I could say there is something in each of my male friends that I find attractive. Not just in a dreamy 'I'm drawn to this person' way; in a boy-girl attraction kind of way. And I think it's natural. Maybe I find it attractive that they have a good sense of humor. Maybe I think they're good-looking. Would I ever make a move?

Nope, because it's just not like that. If there was an actual 'spark', I would have made a move at the start. If I like a guy, really like him, in that way, I generally act on it pretty promptly, or, at least make it super obvious.

And if I meet a guy, I don't feel a spark, but I have suspicions that he did - if he's a cool guy, I'll hang on in there, really, honestly, genuinely, innocently hoping that maybe this one’s different. That maybe he’ll lose interest in the idea, and we can really just be friends. In denial, just like the rest of mankind.

Hey, but sometimes it works out. Maybe my man mates are in the same situation; attracted to me in some way, but they didn't feel the spark either. Or maybe they did, and they just got over it. I do know I've got a handful of guy mates I completely trust, that I'm pretty sure wouldn't want to sleep with me. I think. God, don't answer that.

But aside from them, my only male friend intake these days is the 'safe zone' crowd, like guys with steady girlfriends or guys without penises. I mean, girls.

I know I'm probably making the situation worse, inadvertently leading on guys, sending the wrong signals. I'm a doofus about that kind of thing.

But maybe there's hope for the Friend Zone yet. I just need to figure out where I'm going wrong.

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So I'm officially ancient: I turned 25 last month.

No one ever asks me for ID anymore, except for when I get caught attempting to sexually assault 17 year-old boys. And 17 year-old boys look at me like I'm a desperate spinster, and I wasn't even that drunk when I climbed over their fence.

I'm too old even for the middle-aged men who used to love to hit on me; my hot tottie status is all used up, like the anti-wrinkle cream I stole from my mum's bathroom.

It's over, man. I'm past my prime. All that's sitting between me and old age now is fruitcake, cankles and 'the change'.

I've taken to hanging out with the 50+ crowd to make me feel better about myself, and during our conversations, I notice the same subjects often crop up. Mostly because they're old and they forget they've already told me everything that has ever happened to them, but also because a lot of us are going to encounter the same events as we move through our lives, especially when it comes to our health.

We've all got our own medical quirks, but there are a few health concerns that are pretty standard issue. All these oldies are dealing with the same stuff - and trying to change their lifestyles to improve their health after it's already taken a hit.

So if I'm just a matter of decades from being like them, doesn't it make sense to take action now to try and beat the system?

And this is why I win at life.

High blood pressure

A major risk factor for nasty stuff like heart disease, stroke and heart failure, high blood pressure means your poor little heart has to pump harder than normal to keep your body working.

Luckily, there's a bunch of stuff you can do to help prevent it:

• Maintain a healthy weight (being overweight makes you about 6 times more likely to get it)
• Keep yourself physically active; yogging, not using the remote, etc.
• Attempt to lower your stress levels - avoid watching Michael Jackson's Thriller
  
• Cut down on salt and alcohol: one tequila slammer per fortnight

Potassium and omega-3 fatty acids are recommended as supplements to keep your heart healthy and protect yourself from the old HBP, too.

Joint issues

Just like an old house starts to creak and groan in stormy weather; it takes an old person three minutes to sit down.

Joint issues can be caused by injury or disease, but here are a few tips to keep your intersections sweet:

• Wear protective gear when playing sports, like ankle or knee braces. Kneepads are also a great way to fill out the awkward gap between your thigh and lower leg if you are obese.
• Keep your weight down - so, don't be obese - every one pound you lose takes four pounds of pressure off your knees
• Use 'range of motion' exercises, like swinging your arms around and yelling 'ROFLCOPTER'
• Eat foods that reduce inflammation, like salmon and flax seeds. In fact, salmon and flax seed puree can be frozen into cubes and served over straight vodka as a fun 'in between meals' snack.

Lack of skin elasticity

While probably not considered a 'health' issue, it's a notorious symptom of aging that'll turn your perfectly acceptable 'bingo wings' into meat flaps.

Here's how you can hold back the years:

• Quit smoking - it causes skin to age faster, and makes you smell like my highschool English teacher. You don't want to smell like him.
• Wear sunscreen everyday, at least SPF 15, especially if you're really white. Sun damage is a little bit racist.
• Drink plenty of water to keep your skin hydrated. If you struggle to get in eight glasses per day, have someone tow you behind a speedboat wearing 1-2kg ankle weights.
• Try facial exercises, like fake-smiling during a boring conversation.

Baldness

Another marginally health-related concern, baldness, known among smart-ass teenagers as 'chrome dome', most often affects men, but it can wreak follicular havoc with women too.

Take action now to increase your chances of having the nickname Silver Fox later in life:

• Cut down on the daily heat styling - be gentle, loving, and faithful to your hair or it will just pack its bags and shack up with that guy Rico from the barber shop. 
• Don't choose styles that tightly pull your hair, like tight ponytails or cornrows. But it would be pretty funny if you got cornrows.
• Reduce your stress levels: remember that episode of The Simpsons when Marge gets stressed and her hair falls out? See? Proven science.
• Check for hairlessness in your bloodline, and if evidence arises, process immediate adoption into a Greek family before you catch bald.

There are loads of good supplements you can get to improve the health of your hair too, like this Kardashian approved brand. What? Try and tell me they don't have good hair.

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Warning: If you are currently dating me, or may potentially date me in the future, please don't read this. Trust me, it'll be better that way.

Apparently, we dream about it our whole lives.

The dress, the cake, the flowers, the music, the place settings...oh, and the groom, of course.

Waiting, moist-eyed at the altar, he'll be resplendent in the perfectly tailored suit, his open-collared white shirt hinting at the perfectly carved chest hidden underneath. His perfectly white smile will appear at the sight of you, his large, comforting hand will take yours, and then you'll kiss, perfectly, romantically, and then, well, you'll live happily ever after, obviously.

Me? No, I'm not one of those crazies with a wedding scrapbook she's been curating since 1989. I've never even thought about my wedding.

Alright, maybe a little. But not properly. Not in a 'planning' sense. Just harmless little daydreams.

At least, I think they're harmless.

I'm single, but I'm pretty sure that's got nothing to do with it. Right?

INSTA-MARRIAGE.

I've never given any guy any reason to think that I wanted to get married to him. I've been quite happy playing girlfriend, even living together, getting about as close to marriage as you could get, and I still didn't need a piece of paper.

But if I tried to tell you I didn't think about it, like I told those guys, well, I'd be lying.

In fact, I thought about it within a week of meeting them.

Argh, yeah, I know, that sounds fairly psychotic, but goddammit, it's true. If I'm going to start dating a guy, I need to feel it out a bit. I need to visualize things. Just to check.

So, I'll think about it. I think about meeting his family, traveling with him, how he'd propose to me, walking to meet him at the altar, having babies with him, even how he'd look working on DIY projects around the house.

It just takes a second. It doesn't mean I'm going to do all those things, or pressure him into doing those things, calm down - it's just research. I just need to do a little long term forecast to see if he passes. If I can't imagine him favorably in all those situations, well, it's likely we're not going to work out.

Arghhh, that sounds even worse - it's not like I completely discount guys if they don't pass some silly checklist in my imagination, but I'm a monogamist - I like to be committed, I want to dedicate myself to somebody, and if I'm going to, I need to do the Ten Year Test. It's just the rules.

Frightened yet?

COMMITMENT IS A DIRTY WORD.

Not to me. Like I said, I'm all about it.

But sometimes guys are not quite as keen. Ha. If only they knew what was going through my mind on the second date...

No, no. Look, it's not like that. It's not planning, remember, just a harmless daydream?

So, I'm over there daydreaming about commitment, and they're over here thinking how they might like to take me home for a little hanky panky, and then I'm thinking about what I should wear when he takes me home to meet his parents.

No, again, seriously, it's not as bad as it sounds. I'm 25, with a couple of long-term relationships under my belt, and I haven't forced anyone to marry me yet, so chill.

I've known worse. Some of my girlfriends will meet a guy one night, and tell their mother about 'The One' by the next morning.

My obsessing is more of a simmering, quiet, romantic, totally normal thing.

What's so bad about having a girl that is so into you they could happily speculate about spending their life with you? Right? Right? Totally normal!

BIG FAT WEDDINGS GONE WRONG.

As luck would have it, the other day when it was all rainy and I was on the couch and in need of some trashy reality shows, the TV gods delivered.

A double-header: Big Fat Gypsy Weddings, and Weddings from Hell 4.

Excellent.

But as I watched in horror as one woman's meticulously planned day turned out to be an explosion of sequins and pink taffeta, and another's actually had an explosion, a reality TV revelation occured (happens all the time) and I started to rethink my perfect little wedding dreams.

Maybe it's not a good idea to think about it at all.

What if he looks amazing in the suit in my imagination, and then he goes all Tiger Woods on me.

What if he looks like he's great with kids in my dreams, but he leaves wet towels on the bed.

What if everything works out, and we get engaged, and then, on our wedding day, he's grown a secret mullet.

So, I guess my Ten Year Test isn't foolproof - mainly because I can't predict the future. And also maybe by imagining our life together, and deciding everything looks perfect in my head, I'm actually blinding myself to the reality. Nothing worse than realizing he's a douche five years on because everything else about him so flawlessly fit into the dream. Nothing is ever perfect, and it makes no sense to believe it will be.

BREAKTHROUGH.

Ok, if you are dating me, or may date me in the future, and you still read this, hey, this doesn't bode well, you not listening to me and everything, but you're lucky, I'm very forgiving, and you can read the rest from here with my blessing:

Thinking about things that might or might not happen in the future isn't helpful, especially if it's going to cloud your judgement, get your hopes up or freak out your boyfriend.

So I'm done. I'll just think about here and now, and take it as it comes. Or at least I'll try.

But not this bit:

I'll probably still imagine Justin Timberlake proposing to me, or Ryan Gosling holding our newborn baby. See, that's not speculation. That is just a harmless daydream. Or not, you know - if you guys want in, let me know.

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That'll do pig, that'll do.

It's three days since Christmas, and I'm calling time on my gorging. I've been eating non-stop since Christmas Eve - every waking minute has revolved around food; what I'm eating, when it will be socially acceptable to eat again, and what I'll eat when that time finally comes.

I really let myself go over the holidays. Yeah, I know, everybody does - but trust me, I'm worse than you.

I'm like a ravenous beast unleashed.

Throughout the year, I survive on water, fruit, vegetables and healthy crap, but Christmas time comes around and it's no holds barred. Whatever I can get my hands on man, I will eat it. I will eat it all day long.

Cheesecake for breakfast. Cookies for second breakfast. Cake for morning tea. Potato chips for brunch. Three kinds of meat for lunch. Cheesecake chaser. Chocolates for afternoon tea. Champagne for dinner. Ham for dessert.

If there are leftovers to be had, they won't be leftover for long.

And to make matters worse - it's never just a nibble. I eat until I look like an over-stuffed sausage. Wait, did somebody say sausage? Where's the sausage?

So I eat a tonne of junk at Christmas time, but I've gotta admit, even when I'm eating healthy food the rest of the time, I still eat waaay more than I need to.

Urgh. Line in the sand.

This Christmas, I literally made myself sick with the sheer amount of food I consumed. I blame Nana and her cakes entirely. I went too far as usual, but this time, the 'eyes bigger than stomach' thing is finito. It's got to stop.

This change in heart (or appetite) may or may not have been brought on by a well-timed article I read in the paper yesterday about a new drug in development that mimics the effect of self-restraint. The restraint of which I am completely devoid part way through a meal. Or a cake. Or a bag of chips.

While I can't say that my slight overeating issue justifies medication, the supporting evidence mentioned in the article provided a nice little kick up the ass of my appetite.

"Experiments have shown that curbing the amount of food rats eat can extend their lives by 25 to 40 percent," was one tasty little factual nugget.

And as we all know the Japanese have got the healthy eating = long life connection down, but apparently, calorie control is actually a cultural habit, where they will only eat until they are 80 percent full. It's got a name and everything: 'hara hachi bu'. You can whip that one out if your mum ever hits you up about not cleaning your dinner plate.

My usual food consumption would rate at about 110% of my capacity (completely unscientific guesstimation), and to be fair, it can get a little uncomfortable. It's unnecessary. And if we look at the big picture according to the newspaper, well, it's just plain unhealthy.

Sold. I'm so all over this. Dinner tonight; I ate slowly, stayed aware of how full I felt, and stopped before I finished my plate. The dog was stoked.

And I felt better. Not like I usually do, all over-full.

This could be good.

So, I'm just going to nip off and get a cookie, because, obviously, baby steps, but tomorrow, I'll be all "don't get in my belly actually, you can just go ahead and stay in the fridge there you minxy little slice of cheesecake".

I suspect this could do wonders for my abdominal situation (otherwise known as 'The Situation' among my friends (well, nobody else calls it that - I call it that though)) also. I'll keep you posted.

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I started working for a radio station when I was 18. It was the greatest day of my life (up until that point). I went to the interview, in pretty much the only multi-storey building we had in the city, met with a couple of the bosses, and they hired me on the spot. It must have been my awesome radio face.

But perhaps I'm making the situation out to be a little more glamorous than it was. I wasn't actually hired to *be* on the radio, I was hired to write the ads that they played on the radio. Not quite as awesome.

Still, awesome for an 18 year old. I was thrust into the world of regional radio, got to meet the DJs, saw the infamous 'prize cupboard', took a tour of the studios and even the inside of the recording booth. Talk about living the dream.

And then one day, things got real serious. Real seriously awesome.

They asked me to do the voiceover for an ad. The client wanted a young, female voice for the spot, and well, I was young and female and I happened to be in the office at the right time.

The producer handed me the script, and led me to the booth. He gave me a set of headphones, and scuttled back to his desk on the other side of the glass.

"Ok Hannah," he said, "lots of energy, lots of excitement, keep it upbeat."

What he got was lots of crap, lots of lame, and borderline depressed.

I tried, I really did, but it's bloody hard talking like a person on the radio when you're just a normal person off the street. I tried talking louder, talking faster, talking slower, but it was no use. My voice sounded like arse. When the producer played it back for me to really hit that point home, I almost retched in disgust.

Not the result the client was hoping for from listeners I'd be willing to bet.

They decided to call in the big guns. The afternoon DJ in the office that day was stolen out of the studio, and I was given crash course in how to talk properly.

Wave your arms around, she said. Smile while you're speaking. Project your voice!

So I did. I looked like an absolute goon, but I did it.

The producer was entirely over the whole thing, but dammit, I was stoked. I read that ad like nobody's business.

As the months passed, I became a regular voiceoverer. I was the go-to for 'young female'. And because I was writing the ads, well, I may have given myself a few more lines that others might have. I honed my voice. I found myself using it in social situations, on phone calls. It was like a super power I'd just discovered after swimming in a disastrously over-chlorinated pool.

I had a voice that was slightly better than your average person. I was unstoppable.

But it wasn't to last. Here I sit, typing this blog post, five years later, talking normally.

Oh, I'm not talking to anyone, I was just reading this aloud as I was typing, and it didn't sound good.

I've lost it. I left my job at the radio station to go do writing stuff and started just talking like I used to before, like a dumb normal person.

What happened, man? It could have been amazing. I could have taken that voice on the road. Charged people 50 cents a spoken word.

But here I am, a washed up ex-radio ad reader, and I want to go back to the glory days. I want to sound like somebody special again.

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I used to despise having my photo taken. I didn't really have a good reason for it.

Actually, that's a lie - I had a reason - but it was the stupidest possible reason: I hated cameras in my face because I SMILED too much.

I have a lot of teeth, and they just don't see fit to stay hidden from the world. So, I find it really hard to keep my mouth closed while smiling. A little smirk quickly turns into a mega-watt grin, and then it's all awkward and people are looking at me wondering what I'm so damn happy about.

Many of my old photos involve me with this twisted little look on my face, using every available facial muscle to try and keep my mouth closed.

Of course, I couldn't keep it up. So, the second photo in the set is always me, again, but with my entire set of teeth on display like some sort of desperate beauty queen.

Eventually, I came to the realization that the full smile shot was almost always better than the 'chewing on a lemon' shot, so I just let my face do whatever it felt like doing.

That is, until I discovered there was another potential mouth position to explore - the pout. Turns out my teeth aren't getting out of that one.

I first added the pout to my facial repertoire about a year back, when I found out about a site called DailyBooth (follow me here!). It's a social networking site where you take a picture of yourself every day, for every one to see, inspired by this guy that took a photo of himself everyday, funnily enough.

I figured it was the ideal opportunity to perfect my photo face - and I've definitely learnt what it takes to make me look good (and what makes me look really bad) along the way.

[This is one of the days when I didn't get it quite right]

I figured we could always use a little help when it comes to the photos we snap of ourselves for our Facebook and Twitter profile pics, DailyBooth, or even those slightly dodgy pics you take on your iPhone to send to your boyfriend. Hey - those aren't just for celebrities, we can all do them!

I asked internet photography maven SnapChick for a few tips, and she very generously offered to create a Q&A video (in two parts), where she covers all my questions about self portraits, including how to get better lighting on the cheap, finding your best angle, and how to fix up imperfections.

Check them out!!

PART ONE:

PART TWO:

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Poor, poor Britney.

It must be tough going from being one of the world's most loved, popular, best-selling, much drooled over pop artists, to being a single mother of two with unfortunate hair extensions, barf-worthy dress sense and a major loss of muscle tone.

But hey, despite the hot messiness of it all - she still sells records, so it can't be that bad?

Back in Britney's heyday, I would have loved to hear that. I actually tried to look like her. Did my hair in pigtails and everything.

Don't judge me, she was awesome and you know it.

But now, I don't know what to think about it. Would anybody like to be compared to Britney anymore?

She has now become synonymous with the term 'trainwreck'. If you look up the term 'trainwreck' in the dictionary, you won't even see a picture of a flaming train crash, it'll be Britney.

In fact, I believe we have Britney to thank for the use of that term in popular culture. Future celebrity meltdowns will be judged against Britney's umbrella-smashing head-shaving antics to see if they qualify for usage of the term.

So I think it's pretty safe to say that we, young women of today, especially those of us that grew up with Britney, should use her life as a cautionary tale.

Something of a 'what not to do' situation.

Poor Britney.

The girl we made an idol only showed us that she was human. 

And I think we all know what went wrong. I think we can all try to understand what she was going through, what kind of situation she was in.

Let's be honest; if you date Justin Timberlake, and he leaves you - it's pretty much all downhill from there.

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I hate airports now. I used to love them by association - for the traveling, meeting loved ones off their plane, seeing other people seeing their loved ones, oversized Tobelerone and unbridled magazine buying.

But now I hate them.

None of the above can cheer me up - the novelty has completely worn off. I associate airports now with rushing, stress, lines and annoying people. Mostly the annoying people.

It's probably not necessary; the rage that comes over me as soon as I step inside the terminal. But, I think, on occasion, it's justified.

Things might be different if I traveled first class, just maybe.

But until then, I'm going to find it hard to not be an airport bitch. So, I'm just going to direct this one to everybody else that's in the terminal. I'm not being crap - it's you.

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