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The Seven Stages Of A Gym Membership

Some annoyingly self-virtuous women in the world actually enjoy eating things like natto, goji berries or dirty old kale. They also take pleasure in 6am morning wake-up calls involving horrible things like burpies and endless sprint sessions. These women also generally bang on about meditation, positive affirmations and the power of positive thinking. They are all extremely ‘Zen’ and have figures TO DIE FOR that around bikini season the rest of us mere mortals (who enjoy sleep-ins, fried food and copious amounts of alcohol) look at for inspiration. For 7 months a year we simply look at these figures with a slight air of annoyance but for the other 5 we suddenly realise !FU*K!, our pale and slightly wobbling bods are going to be NEXT to these freaks of nature goddesses in a matter of weeks! Right, time to join a gym as the old one was cancelled due to having better things to do…  like oh say enjoying Gossip Girl repeats while simultaneously shovelling Doritos down our gobs.

And so begins (yet again) The Seven Stages Of A Gym Membership that we repeat time and time again…

Stage One: Obesity

That moment after a holiday, x-mas or even just as you shed your winter layers, when you finally notice the excess of dimples splashed across your backside and the ‘cute’ roll of flab over your waistband your mum lovingly prodded at. Then you can’t stop noticing, ‘holy shit my cute summery jumpsuit once so loose and ‘boho’ is now stretched across my width like a circus tent.’ The legs so sneakily encased in black and VERY flattering stockings all winter are suddenly looking more plump than pin-tastic. 😦 Cue an onslaught of immense grumpiness as we glare sullenly at the freshly baked chocolate cake perched cheerily on the kitchen counter, warm wafts of heaven breezing up our hungry nostrils.

Stage Two: ACTION

Butt is about to get whipped into shape. Gym memberships are signed and a brand spanking new pair of Asics and Lorna Jane workout wear is purchased because OF COURSE one needs new threads to look the part and motivate them to actually use these incredibly overpriced items. (The threads more so than the shoes, shoes are one thing you should NEVER scrimp out on. Trust me, your feet will thank me later.)

Stage Three: The Honeymoon Phase

This stage is exactly as it sounds. Think about it like a new relationship when everything is new and liberating and fun. You want to spend as much time as possible with your new lover (AKA the gym) and food struggles to make a starring role in your day-to-day life unless it’s green and filled with all types of yucky goodness. You’re so committed that not only are you visiting the gym most afternoons after work, but you’re even getting up earlier to walk to work AND you’re doing a Saturday morning PUMP class! Who wudda thought!

Stage Four: Second Thoughts

This is like after the honeymoon stage in a relationship. Basically food and TV appeal more than certain types of physical activities. Nuff said.

Stage Five: Procrastination

This is the stage where we secretly wish we would sprain our ankle (even going so far as to wear ill-fitting shoes on the treadmill…  or is that just me?) JUST so we have an excuse to sit at home and not attend the gym and ‘comfort’ oneself with pies, peas, mash and gravy. *Watering mouth.

When this stage hits we are suddenly much more interested in things once ignored like cleaning the loo, or catching up with that super annoying girlfriend who uses the term ‘like’ more than she deems it necessary to take a bloody breath.

Stage Six: The Slow-Down

This stage is where our gym visits putter down to once, max twice, a week and we spend the session reading a magazine while peddling uselessly on the old persons bike (you know, the reclining one). OR you flap around in the pool like a retired seal only to be shouted at by a Speedo-clad Fabio furiously free-styling down the pool to ‘get into a slower lane’. Jerk. This stage is generally just a meagre excuse for exercise and really just a cute nod towards the $20+ being deposited into the gyms cheeky little bank balance weekly before you race on home to compete in FIFA with accompanying cheesy garlic bread and jelly shots. (Now if only we applied the same enthusiasm to a year-long exercise routine eh?!)

Stage Seven: I Give Up


This is the moment when we realise we haven’t visited the gym since the last season of the Kardashians aired… Yet the bastards still insolently sneak our hard earned $$ (well…$$ anyway) month after month as we continue to sit on our ass.  So we dutifully make our way to the gym (head hanging with shame) and once the reason for our visit is explained to the chirpy 17yo receptionist, her expression changes and you are taken to ‘the room’. It is here that an immensely fit and gorgeous male/female (depending on your guessed sexual preference) will sit you down while giving you a slightly condescending ‘concerned’ interrogation. ‘Why would you choose NOT to live a healthy lifestyle and continue working towards a healthier you with us’? ‘I don’t know White Goodman, is it true that steroids shrink your dick?’ And so as we meekly schlep out of the gym for the last time the horrible obesity pattern sets in again and soon enough the whole bloody process will be set in motion yet again. So long ‘quest for an ass smaller than Miranda Kerrs’, you have been overshadowed by yet another round of Oreo eating and general lack of interest in looking in the mirror too closely.

Do you fall into this pattern also? 


I would like to note that this article was written ‘tongue-in-cheek’ and I have the utmost of respect for women living the lifestyle I have poked fun at.  

The Hunter Valley: My New Favourite Place

In November last year I embarked on a girls week away where a suggestion was made that we spend a day touring wineries together. My reaction went something like this; “ummmm are we old….?” Consequently we didn’t go, as anyone who has ever met me knows that my opinions are pretty much the most important in the world and also there’s no need to force me into anything unless you want an onslaught of foreign objects hurled at your head. (Yes I am aware that I am sound like a spoiled errant child.) I can now shamefacedly admit that a winery tour would have probably been far better than what we ended up doing (even though vigorous club crumping created favourable memories), as I recently went to The Hunter Valley for the first time and fell in all types of love.

Less than a 2-hour drive from Sydney, The Hunter Valley seems like a different world. You can literally feel the relaxation ebb over you as rolling green hills and picturesque ponds replace the depressing Sydney smog and lovely young gentleman on my street corner who feels it’s in my best interest to be given a glimpse of his privates every day.

I began my day by being walked around the vineyard owned by my friends parents, Sovereign Hill, which is entrenched on what seems like one of the highest points of the Hunter Valley, overlooking captivating views.  The lush greenery, mouth-wateringly ripe grape vines, and quaint farmhouses seem endless, amplified by the zing of the crisp air to the soul and the thrill of being somewhere new and so lovely. My friends Dad quickly taught me how to prune the vines before realising I was a natural and recruiting me immediately, in my eyes it’s always good to have a new skill you can fall back on 🙂

Lunchtime came around and what fun that turned into as a very quirky and eclectic bunch of 13 people (many who had never met and ranged in age from 21 to about 80) perched their butts onto seats at the pristine Gartelmanns Café situated on a nearby winery.  Glasses of wine flowed and the sparkling bubbles evanescently tingled our tastebuds as the stimulating conversation created many a laugh. We started with the most amazing cheese selection (anyone who knows me in the slightest knows that my heart can be reached through a good cheese platter) and I gobbled up everything in sight, even braving a chunk of blue-vein much to my tastebuds disgust as the poor lads aren’t there yet, but one day I am sure… Quite possibly the same day that they decide to become partial to a glass of red. ATM any sip causes them to shout at me and fist my tonsils – not fun the stubborn buggers.

So after our inner-foodies had been momentarily satisfied we cheekily moved on to my first proper ‘Cellar’ where I discovered that not only are there delicious selections of wines to taste but YOU CAN TASTE THEM FOR FREE. Seriously, it’s the best version of heaven I’ve ever been privy too. Besides a good rogering I suppose but lets just mix the two and THAT’S a damn fine time :p Obviously I preferred the sparkling and sweeter whites (not to be confused with a dessert wine *vomit, the thickness engulfs your tongue like a particularly curdled tub of yogurt) and I was very angry with the old tastebuds as I was hoping they would at least pretend to be mature for a few hours rather than chucking a tantrum in my mouth, causing my entire body to shudder and my eyes to well up at the serious misfortune robust or bitter whites seem to inflict on them and don’t even get me started on the reds. So I sulkily bought a bottle of delicious but highly unsophisticated Moscato as I glared jealously at the refined reds perched up on their mantle looking down at me in their snobby manner.

We then headed to a few more cellars on wineries, getting more sloshed along the way as the car sloshed simultaneously with the plethora of wine purchases my housemates made.  Once twilight set in and a gorgeous sunset reined down over the exquisite countryside, we headed back to Sovereign Hill for a few more bottles of wine and quite possibly the best homemade pumpkin soup I have ever been lucky enough to gulp on down my greedy little gullet. Needless to say my head hit the pillow later that night slightly throbbing but filled with happy thoughts on such an amazing day I had originally disregarded.


Herbal Essences Competition WINNERS Announced!

Hello beauties!

Although I was immensely impressed with all of your ‘summer memories’ shared for the Herbal Essences competition, I did have to choose 3 winners. So here are my 3 favourite answers!

Fish’n’chips on the sand,

A cold beer in one hand,

Watching the sunset over the bay

That’s Summer, doing it my way!

– Lyndall Crisp 

My favourite summer memory is living in Sydney for a few months as a kid (I’m a kiwi). I went to school in Waverly – my dad would pick me up in the afternoon and we would walk together to Bronte Beach, swimming and sunbathing for a few hours before scurrying home and just beating my mum in the door on her way home from work. Dad and I kept up this big act that I had been doing homework all afternoon and even though I’m sure Mum saw through our ruse she still went along with it. That secret time skivving off made me so close to my dad and started a love affair with Sydney that led to me moving here as an adult! Dad and I still sometimes chuck a sickie from work and go to Bronte in the summer!

– Maddy 

The first summer I had my license and could drive to Old Bar beach and chill out for hours, at sunset when it’s slightly cooler, just watching the waves roll in. Usually munching on a Pineapple and Raspberry Callipo, listening to Jack Johnson. The ocean has always had such a calming effect on me, and having the freedom to go there whenever I want gives me joy to no end.

– Courtney S

Winners will be contacted via email.


Dear Rachel Zoe: What’s With The Wig?


The Bondi Workout

No Glove. No Love.

I hate condoms. Truly despise them actually. Vile, sticky things. Luckily, I’ve never been a participant in casual sex so I’ve never had to use them. That said, there was a period where I went off the pill for 6-months to ‘give my body a rest’ and don’t think I enjoyed sex for that entire period. Disgusting rubbery things. But the point is that even if you are on the pill but having casual sex, you NEED to wear a condom. Well the boy does anyway, those female things are strange-looking devices aren’t they.

The reason for my ‘no glove no love’ lesson comes about because of the sheer volume of friends of mine who regularly have unprotected sex. With NEW partners. Even with boyfriends/girlfriends I think some peeps are extremely lax. After all, just because they are only currently having sex with you doesn’t mean they don’t have anything. Don’t kid yourself into thinking they were an innocent virgin before your minxy ways were bestowed upon them. (Not that there would be much fun in virgin sex neways but that’s neither here nor there.)

These friends of mine who are having this unprotected sex are smart, educated people who are extremely safe in all other aspects of their lives. Their iphones are password protected (and if not they quickly are after an initial frape induction), they have obscurely different passwords for their facebooks, bank accounts and paypal; yet they are happy placing their penis inside someones INSIDES whom they have just met! Or vice versa obviously. I thought the ‘insides’ had more of an impact, although I guess ‘tickle your uterus with his seemingly infected genitalia’ is equally off-putting.

I know that love with a glove feels like shit but in a day and age where people are rubbing their clappy vags’ all over your sheets on a regular basis and they have in excess of 100 peeps notched into the old bedpost (at that point its more like a woodpecked twig really), you NEED to be careful. Chlamydia, herpes, HPV, HIV/AIDS, gonorrhoea, syphilis, hepatitis, crabs or scabies; any of these are repulsive and people really should take better care of there hoo-hars if they plan on still using them when their cute and old and already gross.

Gentlemen you will already be bald with back-hair and erectile dysfunctions. Do you really need a crusty member to boot?

And ladies, there really is no hope for our breasts and bums, gravity is a law of attraction. So lets keep our varges in top-notch condition yeah!?


So come on chooks, slap one on or no cheeky tickle time.


Restaurant Review: Steel Bar & Grill


From the outset, Steel looks like many of the other edgy and ever so slightly grungy bars in Sydney. Inside, it’s a sleek and urban oasis that offers an extremely sophisticated (read posh *pointy up nose), yet relaxed and unique dining experience. Loud drunken fools and screaming brats be gone, as this is one Sydney hotspot where you can actually have a decent conversation. Slow music with rising tempos plays softly in the background as waiters move silently around before discussing your choices in hushed tones. Bliss. A mouth-watering menu and extensive wine list offer even the fussiest of palettes something to enjoy, while the soft candlelit atmosphere is the perfect anecdote to a hard day at work.



An interior designers dream (designed by one of Sydneys most notorious designers Michael McCann), every detail is as dramatic and awe inspiring as the next; from the dim array of lighting, to the personal flat screen playing SATC as you refresh in the ladies room.

A must-see for any Sydney foodie who loves relaxed glamour without the Aria price tag and accompanying pretentious twats.



Christmas used to be my favourite time of year.

This year? Not so much. Lets just say I was feeling less than merry. L So un-merry in fact, that at one point, when yet ANOTHER badly dressed santy pants ‘ho hoed’ his way on past me, gaggle of screaming brats on his heels, I literally wanted to….


Yes ladies and gentlemen I realise this is very Grinch-like and generally unforgivable.

So last night, after working all day followed by a five-hour drive and half a license and a hefty old fine later, I was home… minus any loitering cheer that was starting to peek on through.

Now this morning didn’t start of much better, after an unwelcomed early start while I’m still battling a cold, the last thing I felt like doing was sitting in an hour-long church service. And that’s before I proceeded to sneeze all over the reverend. SO going to hell. After the service, a family friend/old high school teacher, warmly greeted me promptly congratulated me on the ‘happy news’ about the impending baby I was apparently carrying on my uterus. She was mortified to learn that the round bump I was stroking was simply intolerance to the creamy carby pasta I’d eaten the night before (IBS) resulting in a wind baby AKA gas. Needless to say I am glad we spoke rather than an assumption going array on the small-town rumour mill.

BUT, when I got home all was well in the world again and I fell back in love with Christmas. We crowded around the tree and what ensued was a lovely few hours of gift giving and the ripping open of presents.  Bliss. It helped that most of my gifts were spot on (I’m very fussy and hard to buy for), and I’m now the proud owner of many new candles, an antique teapot, clothes and more clothes (which were handpicked), must reads, eclectic home wares, lingerie, fashion mags and luxe beauty prodz. Ahhhh.

Then we had a delightfully filling and fun lunch, full of bad bon-bon jokes and a plethora of food, followed by a blissful few hours spent poolside. (I may or may not have freakishly read an ENTIRE 359 page novel in that time – whoops #speedreader). We then went to the beach and had cheeses (food-gasm) out the back while the sun comes down.


And I actually feel relaxed! YAY!


So a day that I wasn’t looking forward to has turned out to be quite lovely thanks to some well-kept family Christmas traditions and immense relaxation.

I hope you have all had an amazeballs day too! Merry Christmas betches!


Shit Girls Say: I Do/Say All Of These Things…





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