SIDE NOTE: Thought Process behind 'The 10 Second Rule'

I found this picture on Audrey Hepburn Complex and it felt like someone had crept inside my head, stollen the thoughts I hide away because they make me sound ridiculous, written them on a black board and published them for the world to see.

Enjoy. xo

KH COMMENTARY: Who's Serving Your Coffee?

The last six months have been pretty life-changing for yours truly. I went from being employed full-time in my much beloved industry to becoming a casualty of the economic crisis. I went from a fortnightly payslip to no pay slip at all. For five long months, I lived off my savings and redundancy while I desperately tried to get my foot back in the door, but it seemed all the doors, windows and cat flaps back into the industry were shut and padlocked.

So I went freelance but while I wrote pitches and waited on commissions, I was still struggling to pay the bills so I was forced to fall back on the only redeemable skill I seem to have - waitressing.

For me, this was a huge kick in my ego pants. I had gone from being the pressed and dressed white-colour worker to the waitress dishing our flat whites and bacon and eggs. It seemed like while I had taken one step forward, I had not turned around and fifteen backwards. I felt like a huge failure and I was very unhappy.

It's been four months since I started working at my cafe and it's taken me four months to realise what a s-n-o-b I had become. I have always seen waitressing as a last resort, a train fast making it's way to the town of Unambition. But since turning in my laptop for a few hours each day in exchange for a docket book and a pen, it's started to give me a new lease on life.

I no longer consider myself second-class. In fact, I consider myself extremely lucky. For five hours every day, I get to be a part of peoples' lives. Whether they're escaping their bosses, offices or responsibilities. Whether they're meeting up with family or old friends or simply taking an hour out of their hectic day to breathe and read the paper. I am not trapped behind a desk and a deadline. I am constantly interacting and learning - not about budgets or business plans or how to make more money. Simply about people. I know their names and how they like their coffee, what their plans are for the weekend and when their babies or grandchildren are due. I notice when I haven't seen the regulars in awhile and the regulars notice when they haven't seen me. I know my customer's preferences and habits and I never tire of seeing that look on their face when I remember something that is particular to them alone. It's a look of appreciation and relief that here, they are valued and remembered.

I am not a waitress. I am witness. And I may not be finding a cure for cancer or driving the economy. I may not be meeting deadlines or designing buildings, fighting for justice or climbing a career ladder. But at the end of the day, I know that I play a part in the lives of the people who are doing all those things and that part is just as important.

So next time you stop by your favourite local coffee distributor (who knows, it might be my cafe!) make sure you say 'Hi' to your waitres. Ask her name, find out what she likes and what she does on the weekend. Because, like you, she's more than just her job.

Ciao for now. xo

Image Credit: Cesca from Girl With A Satchel

MAIL BOX: Dear Prince William

Dear Prince William,

RE: The attention you are receiving upon your current tour Down Under. Don't get too excited (Heaven forbid, should you show show more than an eye-twitch of emotion).

I don't mean for this letter to be cutting or offensive or to hurt your royal feelings. I know you've had a really tough life. Being second in line for the throne must be a huge weight on your mind. I mean, how you manage to pull yourself out of your 1,000,000 thread Egyptian cotten sheets each day is truly commendable. And then you have your crazy family - a father with the personality of wet mop, a step-mother who has the face of a thoroughbred gold-digger, a brother who is a ranga (but a sexy one at that) and a grandmother with a truly spectacular taste in hats. Don't worry, I understand. Life's a bitch.

But as you tour our fine country, I feel there's been a few misunderstandings on your behalf and therefore, was compelled to write this letter in order to set the record straight. If you're going to be our Future King, I want us all to be on the same page, so listen closely and try not get side-tracked by the high-pitched squeals of your dedicated followers.

The first issue I want to address is our relationship. I know everytime you look into the crowd, there's one face in particular you're looking for but I'm sorry to say, I just haven't been there. I know you came to Redfern in particular because you know I live close by and you were keeping your royal fingers crossed that I might rock up to see you, but I'm sorry, I chose to stay home that day and clean out my kitchen drain. I just think our relationship hasn't got the kind of future I can invest in. You need the kind of girl who'll treat every day like it's a trip to the races and wear stupid hats which match her plaid pin skirt. That's just not me. Maybe someone more like that Kate Middleton lass everyone says you've been seeing back in London. If you think you're having trouble getting the family to approve of her, there's no way you want to bring me home to meet Grandma.

The second issue I feel compelled to speak to you about is all this female attention you've been receiving while in Australia. I know it must be a huge boost to your ego and hard not to let your head swell while in the presence of our snap-happy paparazzi, but it seems you're handling it pretty well. That being said, don't get too carried away. While I know you're a top guy, the reason all those women stood out in the January sun hoping you might so much as accidently flick them with your sweat was 20 percent due to your boyish good-looks and about 80 pecent due to the fact that the title that preceeds your name is 'Prince'.

I know it's a hard pill to swallow, but the truth often hurts I'm afraid. And when you break it down, it really has nothing to do with you. It's to do with females in general and our Cinderella Complex. No matter who you are or where you hail from, every woman is hoping that one day a Prince (and we're talking a literal Prince like yourself, not figuratively) will come along and save her from her pathetic life scrubbing the floors. And guaranteed, every woman who flailed her arms in front of you like she was drowning in your very presence was hoping you might see her and immediately know that 'she was the one'.

Blame Princess bloody Mary of Denmark. Until she came along, the Cinderella Complex was metaphorical. We all hoped it might one day happen, but knew that the chances were about 0.000001 to fifty bazillion. But then Frederick spied her in a bar, put a ring on her finger and a crown on her head and turned the Cinderella Complex tangible.

So as you wing your way to Melbourne, where another city of screaming women await your regal presence, try and remember that all this attention is purely a result of thousands of years of fairy tales. That to these women, you are a beautiful idea. A proverbial white night come to potentially save them from having to scrub the floors any longer.

And if one of them loses a slipper, best leave it to the security guards to handle. That's just a little advice from me to you.

All the best on your return to Buckingham Palace. Give Grandma a kiss for me (and your brother as well. I'd ask to pass on more than a kiss, but that would be incestuous and your family have had enough scandal as it is.)

Ciao for now

KH.

KH COMMENTARY: The Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

So as I continue my journey through Textbook Romance, I continue to learn more and more about the male species and the art of seducing them with all but a few batted eyelashes and a lip-glossed pout. You could say this book has taken over my life - you could say that, but we won't because that would mean I really am pathetic and I want to live in the Land of Denial for as long as denyingly possible.

But while Zoe Foster has brought up many things which have caused me to stop and consider my current habits, she did make one comment which has lodged itself in my brain like a splinter in your thumb and has forced me to reflect on those things which aren't too pleasant to reflect on

"Every guy comes into your life for a reason, so learn and grow from them blah blah blah..." - or something or other like that.

Hmm...what an interesting and vomitous thought. It was hard enough moving on from those relationships and not-quite-relationships and didn't-even-know-I-existed-one-sided-kinda relationships that I've had (or haven't had, for that matter) that the idea of reflecting on them is as about as pleasant as ripping stitches out of a wound. But if I'm going to do this and going to do it right, I feel it's important to work out what I should have supposedly 'learnt' from my Ghosts of Boyfriends Past.

(This is a work of non-fiction. All men described are in fact real, breathing males, but in order to keep their identities disclosed they will remain un-named and any particularly revealing features undescribed...but you know who you are...)

1. Mr. Caromello Koala - I was in Year Seven, was twelve years old, had finally got rid of my braces and was starting to feel like I had something to offer the male species other than a mouth full of metal - which is never a pretty sight. Mr Caromello Koala (and you'll find out why he was christened with such a name in a minute) thought I was a bit of something/something and asked me if I wanted to 'go out' (which is what you do when your twelve - 'go out' - not really go anywhere or do anything, just 'go out'). I didn't really think all that much of him, but my stomach was thinking a whole lot about the Fundraising Caromello Koalas that were currently on sale at the Canteen. So I told him that I would 'go out' with him if he bought me a Caromello Koala. He didnt:
What I learnt: Black-mailing is not an efficient way of starting a relationship.

2. Mr. First Ever (Rebounding) Boyfriend - I was in Year Eight and Mr First Ever (Rebounding) Boyfriend had just broken up with one of my best friends. This time, I thought he was a bit of something/something so two days after they broke up (after asking her permission, of course, what kind of friend do you think I am?) Mr First Ever (Rebounding) Boyfriend and I started 'going out'. For two glorious weeks, I spent hours infront of the mirror primping my perfect self before skipping off to school, sat next to him at lunch time, doodled our marriend name on my pencil case until one day his best friend came and abruptly told me, "You're dumped".
What I learnt: It's never nice to be 'the rebound' and one shouldn't doodle potential married names on one's pencil case with permanent marker.

3. Mr. Second Ever (Boooooring) Boyfriend - I was in Year Nine and was about as in love with Mr Second Ever (Boooring) Boyfriend as a dog is in love with its ball. And just like a dog with its ball, I was prepared to play as much fetch as he was willing to offer. I chased that boy all day and night until finally he succumbed, we started 'going out' and I had what I wanted. But the one thing worse than not having what you want, is finally getting what you want. After about an hour, I was bored, missed being single, dumped his sorry ass and started looking for a new ball to chase.
What I learnt: When it comes to relationships, sometimes women behave more like men then we'd care to admit to.

4. Mr. Friend of Sister Dearest- Like all true younger siblings, there has come a point in my life where I have longed for the affection of one of my sister's friends. It's just one of those Rights of Passage that all younger siblings must go through and learn from.Unfortunately, my affection was purely one-sided which didn't bode well for my poor sixteen-year-old self and I was left nursing a slightly fractured heart.
What I learnt: There comes a point where you must cover every inch of everything you own with little, yellow post-it notes saying He's Just Not That In To You until you get the picture. But just because it doesn't work out like your poor sixteen-year-old self hopes, doesn't mean you can't go on to become good friends.

5. Mr. He Knows I Like Him But Isn't Going To Do Anything About It Other Than Continue To Flirt With Me So That I Continue To Boost His Ego With My One-Sided Affection - So I've moved on from silly teenager-flings and have entered the bold new world of adult-dating. And I couldn't have chosen a worse boy to fall head over heels for. Think of me like an innocent little moth, flapping my way around in the dark until suddenly I spy a big bright light. I become hypnotised by how wonderful I think the light is and consequently bob around it hoping that it will notice me right back. But as much as I love the light and as much as the light loves having me bob around it like he's the Light of the World, the light doesn't really give two tosses about me and has no problem switching himself off and suddenly becoming unavailable without any prior notice.
What I learnt: Not to be sucked in by boys with pretty smiles and flirtacious natures, because 999 times about of a thousand, they tend to be nothing but playaas who aren't so much interested in you personally as they are in the personal attention you bestow on them in copius, ego-stroking amounts.

6. Mr. Knows My Name But Doesn't Know I Exist (He does know my name though, right?) - Ahh, yet another one-sided affection to add to my shamelessly growing list. This is a story of a girl who fell hard and fast for a boy who spoke to her once and then proceeded to forget she existed while she pined for him in private. Desperately hoping that Mr. Knows My Name But Doesn't Know I Exist would finally realise I existed resulted in a few too many drunk and crying nights on a few too many occassions.
What I learnt: Don't say "Let's do a bazillion tequila shots" hoping that it might rectify the problem.

7. Mr. Kenmore-Eye Candy Man - I'm going to use this as an example just to really reinforce my pathetic and sorry existence. I have never found out the true name of Mr. Kenmore Eye-Candy Man, nor have I every in fact spoken to Mr. Kenmore Eye-Candy Man, but I promise he is not a figment of my imagination. He was this incredibly attactive boy I saw at church each week and then a few times at University and convinced myself that we would make the perfect couple. We in fact, never so much as passed polite introductions.
What I Learnt: If you don't know his name and he doesn't know yours, a prospective relationship that does not make.

I think that will do for now. I could go on, believe me, I could go on. The list is as long as it is stomach-twistingly cringe-worthy, involving a few bad but love-struck choices and even a swimming pool. But I think reflecting on those sinful seven is enough to reinforce in my mind that perhaps a little self help in the romance department wouldn't go astray....

Ciao for now. xo

TOP SHELF: Love that self help

I am slightly embarrased, nay, ashamed to admit the following information.

I am reading a self-help book.

WORSE! I am reading a dating self-help book.

WORSE! It was given to me as a gift, which is actually worse than buying one for one's self as it seems to suggest some underlying issue of denial.

But WORST OF ALL! I am actually getting something out of it.

It all kind of came around as a bit of a joke. Sister Dearest gave me a copy for my birthday (Pretty brutal, right? My birthday. I mean why not a nice fragrance? A stick of celery? Even a poke in the eye with a blunt stick would have felt better) of Zoe Foster and Hamish Blake's Textbook Romance. I still harbour a secret suspicion that she just wanted to read it herself, but she pulls men all the time so I doubt she's having any trouble with her own tactics.

Anyway, the book lay dormant on my bookshelf for a few months which is unusual because nothing lies dormant on my bookshelf for more than a few days. Truth be told, I was avoiding it. I was reading everything else but, even re-reading books I've re-read a hundred times before. But the time came last night when the mountain had to be conquered, so I opened the blazing red cover.

Firstly, I mean come on, Zoe? What were you thinking picking a cover THAT red? It's not exactly the kind of red which goes unnoticed when you're reading it on the train or it's simply poking out of your bag. This thing is seriously red. Alarm bell red. The kind of red which screams "Look at me! I am red! AND I am a self-help book AND a DATING self-help book to be exact! That's right! I belong to the lonely, pathetic, emotionally-crippled hermit who's currently trying to hide my bright red cover behind a copy of Sydney's MX as she travels home from work!" Seriously, Zoe? Like my ego isn't taking an all-mighty bashing already and you had to go and make the damn thing red.

Anyway, I managed to get over the red cover issue and began reading. At first, I was unimpressed. It seemed all Zoe's theories about 'how to attract men' revolved around concepts which I found completely anti-feminism. But two hours later, it was almost midnight and shock horror! I was still reading. I've read Pulitzer Prize nominees I've put down sooner than that. I wasn't sure what it was, but something in the book was beginning to make some sort of sense and the more I read, the more sense it made.

Men are not idiots. They're actually kinda savvy - who knew? Yes, they make stupid choices and say stupid things and generally act beneath a guise of general stupidity, but really, it's just that. A guise. Beneath all that macho-man-rubbish, they've got it worked out. They know what they're looking for (hint: it's us) and just like we have our dream white knight outlined in our little heads (tall, blonde, preferably a musician, likes the same parts of the paper as me and won't be afraid to tell me I'm being an opinionated git) they have a their dream Princess Peach built up in their little heads and they'll stop at nothing to get it. But the point is: you're either it or your not.

But just because you're not 'it' to one guy, or maybe five, doesn't mean there isn't someone, somewhere who does think you're it, who considers you the bees knees. The cat's pyjamas. The dog's tuxedo. Who thinks you're the best freaking thing since sliced bloody bread. And isn't that worth waiting for?

And while you're waiting, who isn't to say this isn't the best time of all? A time to do all those things which are so deliciously single, which you can only do when the only person in the world to love is yourself?

I'm only half way through Textbook Romance and but look what I've learnt - how to become more selfish! No really, I know it's a whole lot more than that. And if I was to say, accidently drop the book into a meat mincer, have each page folded into origami and delivered to my sister's office by a Singing Telegram or recycled into toilet paper to be stocked in a Port-A-Loo, I'm pretty sure what I've learnt so far will be enough to have a long and happy life... with myself.

Ciao for now. xo

Image Credit: Recordis Photography courtesy of Audrey Hepburn Complex

New Year, New Look

Hello oh-fabulous ones.

I decided The Chronicles needed a make-over, so rather than spending my Saturday at the beach causing my skin cells additional trauma (PS. How guilt-worthy is that ad? Everytime...everytime.) I spent my Saturday fiddling with Photoshop to bring you The KH Chronicles: Re-designed. The other one had just become too...well...pink.

Anyhoo, change is good and strangely addictive. Now I am further toying with the idea of re-designing some of my sections. Upon doing a spot of section stock-take, I have discovered there are a few portals of my blog that get a bit more action than others. ie. KH Chronicles, Press Release and Discover Me. I don't know if this is a reflection on my inability to span beyond these conventions or these sections are just generally more fun for me to write.

So before I go making any harsh decisions, I am going to throw the reigns over to you. I seem to do all the creative thinking and opinion-sharing in the relationship so it's about time you pulled your weight and spoke your peace. What do you like? What do you dislike? What would you like to start seeing more of? What would you like to see less of? Is there some secret fetish you feel I am not catering for? Yes, this blog is about me - hence the 'KH' part of The KH Chronicles - but it is also about you, dear readers, and I want you to feel valued and satisfied each time you check in.

So give me some feedback! So I can feed it all back to you.

Ciao for now. xo

Image Credit: Audrey Hepburn Complex

DISCOVER ME: Heard it on The Vine

We all know I love unearthing things - call it a journalistic tendency - hence why I have dedicated a whole section of my blog to the artistis, musicians, actors, bloggers, writers, cupcake makers that are using their talents to change the world. I saw a need and Discover Me was born.

And it's when I come across stuff like Sydney Morning Herald's, The Vine, that I'm relieved that I have a place to air this kind of creative laundry.

Okay, so I'm about a year late to the party (I never said I was a front-runner when it comes to what's hip, hot and happening) but I got so excited when I stumbled across this website this morning that I instinctively made a cup of coffee, which is my immediate response when I know I've found something worth blogging about.

Affiliated with the Sydney Morning Herald, The Vine is a website, or more formally, a forum for news, information, advances and most excitingly, opinions related to the worlds of entertainment, music, fashion, news and technology. By becoming a member, citizens of The Vine can contribute to all areas by posting and commenting on the website's content.

And there's nothing I love more than a public arena in which to vent one's opinions.

In the 45 minutes since stumbling across this website while combing the SMH for some worthy news material for my own website, I have officially been seduced by The Vine and want to have little opinioned, blogging babies with it. It has all the best parts of the newspaper, but told with wit and feeling. It's completely non-journalism. There's no 'inverted-pyramid-give-your-opinion-upon-penalty-of-death' rigidity which they teach you in journalism-school. It's loose and judgemental and completely unconventional when it comes to traditional journalism. I love it.

So, for the sake of everything that is creative and abstract, do yourself and favour and visit this site. And make sure you stop by LoreleiVashti's Dear Alicia Keys - it's well worth a gander.

Ciao for now. xo

KH COMMENTARY: The Realistically Attainable 2010 To-Do List

I know I said yesterday that we were going to forego the New Year's Resolutions swap because I believe them to be shadey statements made by people with unrealistic ambitions, but I have a secret to own up to...

I made a few myself.

But I want to point out, that mine were made with careful consideration and in an attempt to better multiple aspects of my life through a few well-focused changes. They're not, as I said, a result of unrealistic ambition eg. I am going to seduce Prince William while he tours through Australia (although, I won't turn down the chance if presented with such an opportunity). Nor are they flimsy, unattainable goals made for the soul purpose of simply making a resolution eg. I am going to lose weight/ I am going to save money/ I am going to drink less and in doing so, give myself a better chance at achieving my first two goals. Because these kinds of resolutions last all of fifty seconds.

So, my Realistically Attainable 2010 To-Do List is as follows:

1. Remember people's birthdays and send them a card

I am one of those awfully contradictory people who forget other people's birthdays all the time and then sook and complain when no one remembers my own. BUT NO MORE! 2010 marks the year of KH-The Birthday Card Queen. And to show how realistically attainable I am making this resolution, I have already marked down all my friends and families birthdays in my diary and collected their addresses for card sending. I am going to fund Australia Post this year all by myself.

2. Be open-minded

Thanks to over-excessive amounts of ambition and the kind of high-expectations which take up residence on top the Empire State Building, I have recently discovered that I fall in the closed-minded category of society. I know what I want and anything short of my expectations is inexcusable. I'm not saying I'm going to turn into a hemp-wearing hippie and forget about all the things I want out of life or my life experiences, but I'm going to be more open to what life has to offer. More experiential and less, "My way or the highway, punk."

3. "Water off a duck's back, Quack Quack"

(This terrific saying was coined by My Bestie and all copyright and credits go to her fabulous self)
(also known as "One thing at a time" and "Rolling with the punches")

Just like water off a duck's back, 2010 is going to be my year of taking things as they come and not being manipulated by the things that go wrong, because they are as inevitable as a crappy midday movie.  If 2009 and I were in a proverbial punch-up, I probably would have come off second best, suffered some kind of concussion and been hospitalised for six to eight weeks. But I've done my physical therapy and I'm back with avengence. And if 2010 wants a piece of me, he better be ready to get his ass kicked because I'm going to bring it, damn it and I'm not going down without one hell of a fight - while, of course, always remaining open-minded.

Ciao for now. xo

(Image Credit: Faded Film Strips)

GLOSS-ARY: The Body Issue

Hello KH Chronicle devotees and a belated Merry Christmas to you all! I hope Santa spoiled you rotten and that no one found any lumps of coal waiting at the bottom of their santa sack. And if you did, well... you're in for a prosperous year of charcoal drawing.

Let's skip the part where we swap New Years Eve war stories (because I can assure you, mine will trump anything you have to offer) and the part where we confide our New Years resolutions, because we all know they are made with a confidence no one can hope to maintain. And while we're at it, let's forget how terrible a blogger I have been over the last few months and charge The KH Chronicles upwards and onwards into 2010 with the speed of 1000 gazelles.

So why not kick off the first post of the new decade by jumping on the band-wagon that is the February issue of Australia's marie claire. It's made headlines this last fortnight (as, no doubt, was it's mission to begin with) by putting a very tanned, very enviable, very naked Jennifer Hawkins on the front cover.

While full credit points go to Jackie Frank who takes responsibility for this media brain-child and to Jen for getting her kit off, I'm afraid I remain a little dubious of this 'let's-all-love-our-bodies' publicity stunt.

For starters, who, in their right mind, wouldn't be willing to strip down to their birthday suit and pose naked on the cover of a nationally-distributed magazine if they looked like Jennifer Hawkins? The woman is trim, tanned, toned, terrific - possessing the kind of goal body image I keep in the forefront of my mind when I'm sweating it out on my afternoon run. Which I suppose, is exactly why she was picked for the job in the first place.

However, it seems Jackie Frank and I are kinetically connected because she addresses this very point in her Letter From The Editor, saying "Now, I'm sure some of you are thinking that if you looked like Jen, with her girl-next-door looks and endless legs, you'd be happy to pose naked on a cover, too. But it's not that simple... while she's naturally stunning, you might also be surprised to know that Jen has her share of body hang-ups, and works hard to maintain her figure and glowing skin by following a healthy diet and exercising regularly."

While this may all be well and true, there's something about this cover and supporting feature that still doesn't fly with me. As a dedicated magazine reader since the days of Disney Adventure and now a journo myself, I'd like to think that the big-wigs behind the magazines I turn to for both pleasure and employment think I'm a tad more switched on that that. There's nothing I dislike more than magazine moguls who pretend their readers can't see through the thin media-veil hanging before their eyes, and this is a perfect scenerio - taking body image (which is already a horse that's been flogged to death since the day dot) and undressing it up.

Give us some more street-cred and don't pretend like we don't really know what's going on. Either give body-image to us as it is by putting some average-every-day-Patsy-May on the front, complete with her love handles and saggy boobs, or continue to dress the cover with skinny-minny-celebrities who we ordain to look like. Don't cross-dress one with the other and sell it to us as an inspirational favour. There's a whole lot going on behind Jennifer Hawkins' motivation to maintain a killer body and when stripped back, it's got nothing to do with inner confidence. Some of us make a life for ourselves by serving coffee and some of us make a life for ourselves by continually looking fantastic - guess which category JH falls into?

If you can flick past the Jennifer Hawkins publicity, this issue of marie claire has really got some solid reads to chew over with a cup of coffee and left over Christmas cake. There's a beautiful feature about the Letters To My 16year old Self - notes penned by our favourite celebrities in teenage reminiscence - followed by a rather stomach-twisting story about middle-aged Japanese men who 'date' body pillows emblazened with their favourite female Anime characters, often depicting girls of the age of 6 or 7. It's kind of creepy and sure to cause a stir if talked about over the dinner table.

But in the mean time, I'm now going to go stand infront of the mirror and contemplate all the ways in which Jennifer Hawkins and I look nothing alike.

Ciao for now. xo