When in Rome…

Gelati Mafia

Gelati Mafia

Maybe it was inevitable that we would love Rome. I mean it is the city of endless love is it not?

Wow look at me, I’ve only been travelling for 3 days and the two Londoners we met on friday night have already imparted their sentence structure with me! If I were at home, there is no way I would say ‘is it not’.

So this is what it means to travel eh? Getting cultured, even with cultures whose city you are not visiting. Because we are definitely not in London, and we are not chilling in the corners of Sydney’s northern beaches or even at a sorority dorm in Oregon state. We are in Rome. But even in Rome, I’m learning so much about these other places, the lives that are led there, and most importantly, how the corners of the world like to party.

We were convinced our first night would end with the bottle of Merlot, a drink chosen not merely for the ‘acquired’ taste it lent us, but more so, for its affordability divided by four. An €8 portion of Italian gold preceded the night that would see us watch the midnight stars twinkle on the sidewalk, endless nagging of the DJ to play Iggy Azalea one more time, and multiple attempts to have a twerk off with two American girls who had obviously practiced far more than us.

As the sun rose, we definitely didn’t, and I’m sure breakfast, lunch and the snacks in between merged into one big pancake at the downstairs bar of our hostel, just the remedy and antidote for a day of getting parched in the Colosseum, being devastated at the ‘under construction’ state of the Trevi Fountain, eating our body weight in Gelati samples, and aimlessly wandering through the cobbled streets which were so perfectly representative of the Rome I have imagined in my dreams.

Pasta was essential, and Gelati was absolutely vital before we headed back to the hostel and greeted by our new pals, – from about 4 minutes earlier – gallantly adorned with trays of jäger bombs and mojitos. Soon the bar top was our dance floor and instead of watching the stars, we were racing through the streets, singing Beyoncé lyrics to policemen and bringing in the next day with dawn chats on the balcony of a room that was certainly not ours.

Confessions of love by beautiful Italian boys, the most amazing salad you have ever had, leashed dogs wandering the aisles of H&M, more Vespas than you can count, merging our mattresses so we can imitate an ‘at home’ slumber party, lattes that cannot be “skinny”, and deeming it acceptable to walk around speaking to ourselves in our best, elongated and dramatic Italian pronunciation of every word. This is Rome. This is love.

Glad-iators, Colosseum.

Glad-iators, Colosseum.

Now to flirt with the Greek Gods.

Why you shouldn’t date someone who does anything.

Image via We Heart It.

It seems that articles describing  “Why you should date a girl/guy who does this/that,” movement is taking over the world – or maybe just my news feed, but that’s essentially the same thing, right?. Without fail, the dawn of each … Continue reading

Who’s your daddy, I mean friend?


There’s an old Assyrian proverb that says, “Tell me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you who you are”.

When I first heard this, the Independent Woman (cue Destiny’s Child) in me, fired up with all sorts of banter, like:

“Ain’t nobody gon’ break my stride”,

“It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to”,

“I do what I want”,

“Its’ my life, and its now or never…”, etc., etc.

But as I pondered this whole notion of “friendly” influence, I realized that yep, I definitely share:

  • The same excessive use of abbreviations…. as my friends
  • The same love/hate relationship with Miley Cyrus…. as my friends
  • The same desire to live on Bondi Beach and have weekly Sunday sessions at the Ivy Pool Club…. as my friends.
  • And of course, the same idea of fun …. as my friends.

But surely the essence of my friend’s Dior fragrance (or is that mine?) has embedded itself a lot deeper than just into my new Kookai tank.

(P.S I know what you’re thinking, how many times can I person say the word ‘friend’ in a blog post – at this point its 8. This simply amplifies my point)

How much of ‘me’ is me, and how much is an amalgamation of the people around me, my friends?

Almost as deep as Barry White, hey.

But seriously, the aforesaid slice of wisdom from Assyria (which I have since learnt, was a pretty major Empire around 2,500 years before Jesus was born), is something we should all think about.

How different are you, to who you were 3 months, a semester, a year ago, as a result of those you surround yourself with?

What character traits, attitudes, beliefs, aspirations and quality of life are you extracting?

In no way am I suggesting that we unfriend everyone we know who doesn’t have Oprah-like generosity or Lance Armstrong-like ambition, that would be ridiculous. (If you have Oprah’s number though, throw it this way!)

I’m simply encouraging you to check out your best friends list, and ensure that it includes at least a few soldiers who will challenge, inspire, motivate and encourage you, just the they way you need to be.

Charlie ‘Tremendous’ Jones said: “You are the same today you’ll be in 5 years except for two things: the people you meet and the books you read”.

My encouragement of everyone to resist the nerdy stigma and get into books will be covered in a later post, so for now, just marinate in the thought that the people around you, are very, very important.

In light of this ‘friend’ theme, I thought it only appropriate to invite the very best of friends to the party. Enjoy.

The ‘not-so-chocolate’ ripple.


Even though I clearly said “not-so-chocolate”, don’t pretend  your not already  frothing at the mouth as you imagine yourself devouring one of grandma’s guilt-ridden, brandy-soaked, cream-filled, peppermint-crisp topped chocolate ripple cakes.

But seriously, this post has nothing to do with your lovely Nanna, her roses, how good she is at knitting, or even  just being so adorably cute….or her famous chocolate ripple cake.

It has to do with this ‘ripple’ thing I’ve been experimenting with lately.

I am yet to determine the proper name for it, and it’s been the first time that old mate Google hasn’t been able to hook me up with a credible answer from his mate, wiki.

So ill try explain it.

Basically, I recently started working at a cute little cafe, and appointed myself a little mission to make every customer I serve smile – this was especially exciting when a stressed/rude/ignorant customer would come to the counter.

What I found is that, with just a little nudge, everyone: the run-down mum, the senile old man, the time-poor executive, the ambitious 20-something chick with the amazing windsor flats and perfect ombré (I must ask who her hairdresser is), are all capable of having an AMAZING day.

What got me excited, was thinking about how the course of their day had now been altered, by my teeny-tiny, one-dimpled, colgate-brushed SMILE.

I am a massive advocate for the whole “law of attraction”, “you are what you think”, “get what you give” etc., etc. movement, and it is profound to think about how circumstances, events and occurrences may have changed as a  result of an altered perspective.

Sure, I only gave Mark his weak cap in a latte mug with extra chocolate dusting and a side of a friendly grin, but I wonder if that little extra, just maybe, inspired him to do something nice for the next person he came into contact with, and then if that person did the same…… and then if that person did the same……and then if that person did the same……and then if that person did the same……and then if that person did the same…….

You get where I’m going with this right?

Moral of the story, start a ripple (it will fit your macros I swear!).

I challenge you to do just one thing nice for someone, and rest happy knowing that you’ve actually changed the world, albeit in a small way.

PS. For anyone who is not shredding for stereo, heres a chocolate ripple recipe.