Dealing with failure

You know, sometimes I get thinking about how we deal with failure and disappointment. I don't mean the soul wrenching disappointment of discovering that Ben and Jerry's has sold of out Maple Tree Hugger and now you're left cradling a Phish Food consolation prize (with all it's cheap marshmallowy showiness) when you can lay blame on someone else and think about what an unfair place the world is. I mean the conflicting, uncomfortable and core-shaking feeling of being disappointed with oneself, knowing that your own decisions and subsequent actions are the only reason for these awful feelings of failure. For me, the feeling of having messed up might haunt me for days, weeks, or months that could otherwise have been spent undertaking wholly rewarding and worthwhile pursuits watching an entire season of Girls in one sitting or obtaining formal qualifications in badminton commentating.

Having made a serious - and concerted - effort to improve my lifestyle choices of late (staring down the barrel of my thirties with weekly hangover frankly seems unappealing, no matter how hilarious/entertaining/momentous the pre-hangover shenanigans may seem). Thus far, it's been a challenging and rewarding ride, though wholly satisfying. I've found that awkwardness of fielding questions about why I'm not boozing is far outweighed by feeling, oh you know, like an actual HUMAN BEING when I awake  - not grasping around for my phone wondering if I might owe someone an apology, not bailing on a brunch event because the only thing I can do successfully is eat Nando's and watch Family Guy, not frantically seeking affirmation that I didn't act like a moron the previous night because I can't remember for myself. So for a few weeks now I've been going great guns, and then Christmas Day smacked me straight in my champagne addled face. Whilst I certainly didn't have a blinder, it seems that my body is already responding to the reduced alcohol intake by protesting  - boldly - at even a few glasses of wine.  Drinking amounts that I was able to happily chug back just a few weeks ago just won't fly. The washout of course is that today, I have a headache and am left wondering where things went wrong, toying with those familiar feelings of guilt, regret, and disappointment.

As I mentally begin the self flagellation process, my beloved points out to me that, actually, I've been managing quite nicely for the last few weeks, and maybe I should cut myself some slack, to lay off the guilt, to simply chalk it up to plans gone a little awry. And I think he's right. It's so easy to nestle into the feeling of shame and awfulness, to beat yourself up over decisions made and throw yourself into a juice cleanse/three hours at the gym to punish yourself for the last night's errors in judgement. Perhaps the best approach (for me anyway) is to step back, acknowledge how far I've come (I handled all my Christmas engagements this year booze free, which is something I NEVER would have thought possible). For me, it's all about breaking the rinse and repeat cycle of 'binge and purge' followed by shame and resentment, and I think today I can do that : to say that it's just a hiccup, to acknowledge (gently) what may have gone wrong, and reaffirm my strategy for next time. In doing so, I'm reminded of this:

 

So I think today, I'm just going to lay off the guilt, enjoy some leftover roast beef, and think a little about how I might do it better next time. Besides, I'm pretty sure no one delivers juice cleanses on Boxing Day!

Pharmacy in Buenos Aires, a memoir...

Well now I am in Buenos Aires, and its not too bad. Learning to speak the language prior to arrival would have been a right treat but alas we cannot fulfil all of our dreams, even if they are beginning to include frequent and creative ways to snuff an obnoxious little crumpet known as Pocket who is the dubious producer of a bleating song known as 'Enamorarte' which has Argentinian tweens singing along with their walkmans (walk men?).

But I digress. My lack of Spanish has lead to some intriguing conversation and even more scintillating results. I ventured the other day into Farmacity which is a chain of chemists in BA which which seems to offer a happy assortment of beauty products and I had successfully sourced most of my needs before I was confronted with the unhappy requirement of human conversation to obtain the last product on my list (said product was behind the counter. On a side note, WTF is dry shampoo behind the counter?).

The interaction between myself and our Farmacity friend went a little like this:

Me: NECESSITO SHAMPOO
...
Unsure of the correct word for dry, I use a befuddled head swinging motion - complete with spraying hand charade - to communicate my wishes.

Helpful lady: ajwdgajttvdhj? Si?

Me: NECESSITO SHAMPOO! Si!

Helpful lady:  confused silence

It is now apparent that my earlier dramatic performance lacked the requisite emphasis, so I now proceed to drop my head to my chest and bob it up and down. I'm not entirely sure how this improves on my earlier performance but my objective is met and the lovely lady assistant produces a can of said shampoo. And yes, I'll be wearing Valentino to this year's SAG awards (best new talent: shitty pantomime)

Helpful lady: djsdgyjsg DOS qyyosmmes VEINTE

From thus exchange I gather that if I purchase two, I will receive a 20% discount. I am also ably assisted in drawing this conclusion by the accompanying sign that reads "20% off" but that's neither here nor there and the shop assistant becomes quite excited by the apparent revelation that I understand Spanish. Seizing the opportunity, I ask for face lotion when it dawns on me that I don't know the word for 'lotion' and my repeated utterances of 'VISAGE VISAGE' would only be helpful if my new friend a) spoke french, b) was cameoing in a Nivea commercial or c) all of the above. But by this stage I am too proud to admit that mi no hablar espanol and she has successfully deduced (most probably from looking at my face, and from my disproportionate levels of stress over a simple visit to the chemist) that I need something with anti aging properties.

So in short, I get what I want. The good news is that I leave with an Avene face cream, a brand I rather enjoy. The bad news? I can't understand anything on the label and the phrases I've opted to plug into itranslate offer worrying and somewhat befuddling results such as 'not water' and 'milky juice' (not normally until after I've finished dinner, thanks!)

Of course, I'm joking about the second one. But I'm going to have to maintain my sense of humour I'm to achieve this anti aging. Lotion alone won't do.

Please stop burning that money in pocket, it hurts.

Oh hai, there online shopping world. Didn't notice you there...

LIES.

There's nothing quite like running into the Australia Post delivery man and  having him squeal SO MANY PARCELS, CRAZY LADY AT NUMBER 52 to make you realise that a check in to the rehabilatory Tom Ford Clinic might be imminent. I like to pretend that he knows me only because it's a small street (it's not) and/or some of the parcels are for my boyfriend or flatmate or dogs (they're not).

Nonetheless, I am buying Very Important Things which fulfil my ongoing resolution to buy quality over quantity. So, in the interests of assuaging my guilt and sharing with you the products of my downsizing wallet but bulging wardrobe, here are some of my online picks:

Nordic Fusion clogs, which just make your little heart and feet and toes sing with all their cuteness and shininess. I chose patent fuschia for me and red patent for my mum as a gift (a mother daughter shoe team, the foot equivalent of Motherboy from Arrested Development). Here is a picture of them on my feet, and as you can tell, both the feet and the shoes are having a Nice Time. You can't tell from the angle, but the shoes are acutally smiling up at me, saying 'thank you for buying us'. Well, that's I what like to think, anyways. You're welcome, shoes. So welcome.

Incidentally, you can also buy these puppies at Urban Jungle in Prahran, which might actually be the sweetest store on Greville Street (running in hot competition with The Lunar Store).

Now, where was I? Yes, make up. Now, some (everyone) might say that I already have ample make up stocks however I am going on a three and a half month holiday and am supposed to be 'packing light' (the apostrophes reflect that I don't really understand what this term means. If you imagine your grandmother saying 'LOL' and you'll know what I mean). Since the new NARS palette - aptly titled 'The Happening' includes bronzer, blush and eye shadow fun, I thought it fit the bill. I got mine from Kiss and Make Up because I am too lazy to go to the shops (but just energetic enough to take deliveries of packages at my front door step), but you can also get it in store at the lovely Mecca Cosmetica

I've developed a mild but very healthy obsession with Pop Basic which offers collections (I'm still waiting for my beta collection, ahhh) of basics and little treats (the first was a polka dot blouse and two necklaces - I'll put photos up soon). I think - am speculating based on things I've seen on Stalkbook - that the next 'basic' will be a breton top in which case I might just lose my mind and need to have a wee nap whilst the party rages around me.

So that's me. If anyone has any tips on this 'packing light' business, please send them my way. My imaginary suitcase is a unhappy mess of three blazers, 9 'basic' tee shirts, 4 perfume bottles and a small parliament of owls, so I really do need some assistance.