SHOP... your path to health and wellbeing

ACP Magazines attempts to take the focus away from finances and back onto fitness with their 30 Days of Health & Wellbeing promotion. And SHOP editor, Justine Cullen stands up to the challenge: find just what you need to keep fit, lose weight or just look hot when you're sweaty in the June issue, out now.

Or you can read my little review at Girl With A Satchel...

Slice of budget anyone?

With the news out that the ‘winners’ of the Federal Budget 2009 are homebuyers, pensioners, students and parents-to-be, I got to thinking: how can I get a slice of the profitable pie?

I just missed out on K. Rudd’s $900 stimulus payout (2007-08 being the first and only complete financial year in which I didn’t pay taxes in Australia), and since it’s being argued that the government’s knee-jerk, spend big response to the GFC is likely to put Australia into financial ruin for generations to come, I’m especially eager to score something now. Be buggered if my kids end up paying for a present I didn’t even receive!

What to do? Age prematurely? Go back to school? I certainly don’t have any money to go out and buy a place… that leaves babies. Yep, I could use my unemployed time wisely, get up the duff and pop out some more little Australian mouths for the government/tax payers to feed.

Perfect. If Boyfriend and I hurry – he flies out Sunday – we can get pregnant in 2009, I squeeze out the kid in 2010 (earning us a healthy $5,000 per child) and by 2011, when things start looking up recession-wise and the government’s new paid parental leave kicks in, I can get a job, fall preggers again and be eligible for 18 weeks paid leave – all thanks to K. Rudd and his team of Merry Gentlemen.

The old proverb, "Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish and he will eat for a lifetime,” rings in my ear. Would it not have been better for the government to put more money into businesses and business development than just hand out lump sums to individuals? I know most of my friends spent their stimulus money on shoes – good shoes, lovely shoes, but shoes nonetheless – and jeez, what we wouldn’t all give for jobs right now.

Gen-Y and wondering

It's May and the sun's still shining. By all accounts, I should be having a ball. I have time on my hands to run, walk, skip or jump (at mantrayoga.com.au I can even get cheap classes, being unemployed); I can laze about the Parental's abode reading mags and watching daytime television and I'm free to catch up with friends - for lunch, for dinner, whenever. Yep, one day I'll look back on this time and want to slap the sorry, whinging version of myself sitting here now. But that's what hindsight is for...

Right now my glass is looking decidedly half empty. And I hate that.

I've just come back from a long brunch with a girlfriend (she ordered eggs, I sat on a pot of peppermint tea for two hours), who at all of twenty-two is still cocky and confident and certain the world is her oyster while I'm trying to weigh up the pros and cons of a career change. Said-girlfriend has known me for almost a decade - since I briefly dated her older brother in high school - and always saw me as such a go-getter; a girl who would take on the world. I guess that's why I find my current unemployment so devastating. I feel like I've let her, and others, down. In her youthful (Christ, she's only three years younger!) exuberance she sat there dishing out loads of advice, "Try X... Could you maybe do Y?", while I smiled, nodded and ultimately poo-pooed each idea.

I'm not negative by nature and I know my personal slump has more to do with the economy than my own drive, but I just wish there was something else I loved to do. Then thinking up pros for a career plan-B wouldn't be so depressing.

GWAS posted a (what I should have found) very inspiring piece on Tuesday about ambitious Gen-Y women turning lemons into lemonade and seeing their new found redundancies as opportunities to fulfill their 'other' ambition. Be it going back to uni, penning their first novel or starting a business, these chicks are positive and positively driven.

Back in December the BBC business channel interviewed Tamara Mellon - Founder and President of fashion label Jimmy Choo - on how she brought her dream to fruition and I thought, "Hell, yeah. I could do that!" But now that I have the time and the luxury of no rent, no mortgage, no real job, I also have no idea.

I suppose I should get back out into the sunshine and go for a walk. Maybe one will come to me?

Local government… why would you do it?

Saturday was a very long day. After two weeks of pre-polling (where my Mum stood from 9 to 5 daily awaiting the chance to talk to pre-election day voters), hours of letterbox dropping and many a constituent phone call, Saturday was the day when our family took to the polling booths to barrack for Mumma.

Before the sun had risen we were hanging up posters and figuring out the best place to stand to capture the market. We weren’t alone. With six candidates vying for one position, there were volunteers (although how ‘free’ their services were appeared dubious at times) from all camps setting up stands. Most wore professionally printed t-shirts; we had Mumma’s handmade lilac bibs (because Spotlight had a dollar-a-metre deal on lilac cotton).

Two of the candidates had hired campaign managers with experience running state elections and had even organised a postal mail out to the electorate the Thursday before, at a cost of more than $10,000. Two more had had their campaigns paid for (in large part) by another candidate, and all, except Mumma, had teamed up with others for first and second preferences.

If you calculate the cost of printing posters, pamphlets, how-to-votes, t-shirts, graphic designers and campaign managers it’s likely this little by-election cost at least two of the candidates upwards of $20,000. Mum spent two. Printing her flyers. We (the fam) did it for love.

On the day it seemed Mum was fairing well. Nothing quite trumps, “Vote for my mum,” and having already spent 12 years as a councillor, many people knew her already and were happy she’d decided to run again. Unfortunately with local government, most people don’t give a toss until they or their neighbour want to develop their house or want Council to enforce parking restrictions in their street. And with a by-election, many are peeved that they need to vote at all. After all, the last election was only in September. Ironically, if people took more time to get to know their candidates, perhaps they wouldn’t have voted in such an unsavoury character as they guy who got booted, thus sparking the by-election.

After eleven hours in the elements – both sunshine and rain – we packed up our booths and headed for home. Exhausted, but happy. We’d done all we could. It would have been a miracle for Mum to triumph over the other campaign machines; in the end she came third. With a normal election – where three candidates are chosen – Mumma would have got in, and looking at the primary votes her tally of 1,520 was just shy of the winner, but with preferences from knock-outs being awarded, it seems money won over.

Just when did local government get so slick?

ELLE... and an old friend

I got super excited this month when reviewing the US May edition of ELLE for GWAS... not only is Drew Barrymore simply fabulous, but James Kaplan - who wrote the profile piece - was a professor of mine when I attended The New School in NYC!

As a teacher, Kaplan was inspiring and encouraging in equal measure. As a writer, he is vivid and captivating. For those not scared of the overseas pricetag (although at $12.95 US mags are only a few bucks more than their Aussie counterparts) check out his take on Ms. Barrymore, "Drewly, Madly, Deeply."

Just not where I thought I’d be

A year ago I was a content Londoner, preparing for my final weeks at Harper’s Bazaar and excited about the prospect of a new job. Sure, it wasn’t at another magazine, but it was certainly a financially lucrative move and I was confident I’d be inundated with freelancing gigs. It didn’t quite work out like that.

Since then I’ve freelanced on-and-off (mostly unpaid), been made redundant and finally forced back into nannying. While I love kids, I love writing more. But I just can’t seem to land an on-staff editorial role. It doesn’t help that the economy is so crap that people world over – including truck loads of journalists – are being laid off.

Back in London Bazaar has lost a third of its editorial staff and here in Sydney things aren’t much better. With so many cutbacks publishing houses are putting new projects on hold and those in jobs are cementing their discount-designer-derrières to their swivel seats.

And when a mag vacancy is advertised, every man, woman and university graduate is applying. Applications are generally online forms where in 25-words or less you get the opportunity to tell them why you’re perfect for the role. This morning I received a similarly generic, ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ for a magazine role I thought screamed me. Each dot-point in the job brief linked directly to a line in my CV, and I could even name drop that a top editor in the same publishing house had referred me to the role. But all that didn’t even get me an interview.

To add insult to injury, Boyfriend is taking a tour-leading job in South East Asia. Signing an 18-month contract but promising to break it and be home by New Years, he’ll be away for 7 months. In his mind he’s doing the right thing. With no travel operation jobs on offer here, he sees tour leading as not only a great experience but as a natural step in his professional journey.

So while he’s hanging in Halong Bay, trekking through Laos and shopping in Bangkok I’ll be here, living with my parents and applying for jobs that don’t seem to exist.

And more than two years since I first interned in New York I’ll be an intern once more, in Sydney. At twenty-five, I expected more.

...For some uplifting fashion news check out pics from day one of Rosemount Australian Fashion Week .

On the campaign trail...

For the first time, in a long time, I’m watching an episode of The Biggest Loser and not feeling guilty. Why? Because in the past two days I’ve put in over 10.5 hours of pavement pounding…

Mum’s running for local government (again), so it’s up to Dad and I – the only mugs still living at home – to help letter box drop her electoral ward. And if trudging up and down grassy knolls, dodging spiders, cobwebs and barking dogs, wasn’t enough, she’s making us wear ultra-identifiable lilac cotton bibs. Chic. No?

Add to that intermittent rainfall and you’ve got yourself a pretty tough workout.

Of course, it’s all worth it. While we have at least another two days of hard slog ahead – and one VERY long day come the election on May 2 – the positive comments we’re hearing from people as we walk past their homes reaffirms just how proud I am of my Mumma.

I couldn’t think of anything worse than being a councillor (politics is just not my thing) but she really loves serving her community and it’s clear from the comments that a lot of people are truly thankful for the hard work she’s put in. Regardless of the long hours, and despite the relentless phone calls from constituents, Mumma never tires of helping others. I admire her strength and her backbone. It takes a lot of courage to put yourself up for nomination, and even more to follow through with candidacy. I’m sure I’m not that brave… so I guess I should just put up with the lilac and keep smiling. After all, over the years Mumma’s done a lot more than that for me!

Big and bruised

Weddings tend to bring out the worst in me. Not emotionally. Physically. No matter how I plan, or how good my intentions, come the day of wedding (or sometimes the night before) something MAJOR happens to ruin everything.

I know, I know. It’s not my day – yet – it’s theirs. But I just don’t get why wardrobe malfunctions and bodily disorders need to play havoc with my fun?

In preparation for the wedding we attended in Auckland, and for my cousin’s wedding (this afternoon), I bought off eBay a stunning bright green Chloé number. It goes down as one of my all-time favourite online purchases, and yet to date, I’ve been unable to wear it. While it fit perfectly six months ago – when I was all trim from thrice-weekly Pilates sessions – by the time we got home from eating our way through the Middle East my body had morphed into a swollen version of itself. Like a balloon, I’d inflated. With most of the ‘air’ amassing in my boobs.

In NZ, I begrudgingly passed on Chloé for another number in my wardrobe, but I really had my heart set on donning the green for today’s celebrations. I’ve been running all week, drinking tons of water and even bought a new pair of suck-me-in, ugly-undies. Nothing’s worked. My boobs are still massive. And in the interest of decency I’ve had to once again pass Her over. I feel like I’ve let a good friend down.

To make up for my lack of wow-factor attire, I booked in a ludicrously expensive blow-dry (seriously, it was cheaper living in London) and forked out yet more cash on some L’Oreal Sublime Bronze tanning gel. All-bronzed-up, I got to bed early last night attempting to get some beauty sleep. Unfortunately my sister and two of her munchkins were bunking in with me – down from Port Macquarie for the wedding – so what should have been a restful evening turned into an evening of hell.

Baby Nine-Weeks farts and snorts louder than an overweight, middle-aged man – I’m talking constant squeaks and bubbles – and Master Almost-Two cried out for “Mumma” at least half a dozen times. My poor sister, yes; but whattabout me?

Halfway through the night I got up to go to the bathroom and blow my nose – hay fever still plaguing my sleep – only to walk head first into the closed bedroom door! Sister had closed the door earlier that night to help Baby sleep. The loud bang/crack of my nose on wood at 1am well and truly destroyed that plan. I cursed loudly, Sister jumped from bed, Baby cried, and Master Almost-Two wailed in with the best of them. I swear, it was the worst night sleep of my life.

So now I sit with tired eyes, awaiting my blow-dry; looking decidedly orange and sporting a swollen schnoz. Pollen is prevalent, my face is itchy and I still have to wear the suck-me-in, ugly-undies.

Lord, I wonder what will go wrong when it actually is, My Big Day?

My take on Nicole Richie...

With my boxes of clothes still en route from London (12 weeks and counting!), I'm a girl anxious for some retail relief. Fortunately I can live vicariously through the likes of Nicole Richie and the girls in 'How much is your wardrobe worth?' in May's issue of Shop Til You Drop .

As always, check out Girl With a Satchel to find out more!

Catching my breath

I've always loved this piece, by Dutch artist, Ellen Kooi. While I'm not one for meditation - breathing in and soul searching seeming a obnoxious waste of time - this picture always gives me pause. Just as the child is suspended mid-air, I too feel light. Dare I say it? I breath in. Deeply.

The last month has flown by. Literally. We left Cairo for Abu Dhabi, spent three days in Dubai. Flew 'home' to Sydney only to fly out four days later to Auckland to spend a week with friends and celebrate a wedding. Back to Sydney, I took off to Port Macquarie to stay with my sister and (try to) help her with her three bubbaloos - all under three!

Admittedly none of these trips were arduous. Even the week in Port - with its endless rain and pooey nappies (that included me scraping poo off two pairs of toddler's Bonds undies) - was lovely. I got to spend time with my sister, perpetually held my adorable 8-week old niece and happily came to the realisation that I may never have my own children. Only joking. I'm sure I will. I'll just give myself time to breathe in between deliveries, unlike my eldest sis.

Poor sister. While on their own her children are gorgeous, delightful little munchkins, together they're a recipe for disaster (and maybe even motivators of self harm). Miss Almost-Three is clever and cheeky in equal measure, while Master Almost-Two worships the ground his older sister skips along, thereby mimicking her every act - especially the naughty ones. Thankfully Little Miss Two-Months is an incarnation of her mother, quiet, selfless and happy to take a back seat to her siblings.

For Easter I helped Sister drive the tiny terrors down to Sydney. We managed to tire the eldest two out with some Dora The Explorer DVD action but 30 minutes from our destination, Baby Bubbaloo let rip with her wailing. Caught on the highway in the middle of the night with nowhere to pull over, one crying baby turned into three. I stretched my arm back to hold onto the tiny, shaking hand of Bubbaloo (a dirty nappy the cause of her outburst). With her fingers wrapped round mine her breathing eased and the crying ceased. Radio reception also returned, so with the sounds of Nova 96.9 calming our nerves we made it to the house in one piece.

Easter Sunday was full of chocolate eggs, my grandmother's 'blessed' ham and bread, and enough food to feed a small army. And although the pitter-patter of little feet spreads crumbs into the carpet, no one can deny that the five most recent additions to our family definitely revive the holiday spirit.

So as I looked through the photos I've taken in the past weeks of my nieces and nephew, I once again came across this dreamlike field of flowers. Tired and weary, I took a deep breath in...

Now I'm breathing out. Slowly.