My evil assistant and I have discussions all the time on if we could go back to tell our teenage selves anything if we actually would. Aside from the Butterfly Effect, changing the course of our history and all of that, what would we say to our younger selves? How much would we give away? It seemed like a too big of a question, so we usually brought up health tips, which included a lot of makeup and skincare advice.
I was pretty much the same chick, year after year; my circumstances are what kept changing. At thirteen I was in private schooling at a Christian college (no hair dying whatsoever) then a year later I was in public schooling, back to experimenting with my hair but still the same dork with a camera attached to her hand. What year would I go to then? I was tossing up between 14 and 16, so 15 is a nice medium. Fifteen is that teetering age of being not-quite. You’re apparently ‘not-quite’ old enough to be exploring your sexuality, but ‘not-quite’ a young kid anymore. You’re ‘not-quite’ of working or driving age (back then in my case anyway). It’s the year of almost but.. not-quite, so it seemed like a good year to travel back to
~~ que Wayne and Garth flashback sequence ~~
If there’s one thing that having an autoimmune and an inflammatory disease has taught me is that eating and drinking the right things is a pain in the ass. Royally. I can’t sugar-coat it in any way- I can’t put any sugar on it at all because it’s horrible for us (get it? Boom tsss.).
Terrible puns aside, I do try to get at least one juice in a day. Of course that goal doesn’t happen most days, but having one does get me mentally and physically back on track with what I want my health goals to be.
Before I tell you the components of this juice, I want to tell you it’s completely customisable and the ingredients I use these ingredients because they have great properties that help promote a healthy tum, low on sugar, anti-inflammatory but actually tasted great. No, I don’t want bloody beetroot juice in my drink, I can’t eat celery and for the love of all things holy, get it away from me.
I remember the first time I told my mum I wanted to get a motorbike. I was eight and I had always loved motorcycles since I first remember seeing one. I liked older cars, thanks to my dad. He was a hot-rod head, drag-racing lover that adored his older cars (when I was a toddler the family car was a red and white 1950s Chevy Biscayne which was always so fun to be in.). My mum could appreciate a nice looking car, also staying true to her Mod styling and loving mopeds. Bikes were different though. My mum had a personal – and valid – reason for not wanting her first daughter to have a bike when she was older. It was strange because the only things I wasn’t allowed to do when I was a kid was watch Clockwork Orange and Fire Walk With Me before I was 18
So, I thought I’d give her a few more years to get used to that.
Fast forward many years later, and my stepdad has his first bike. Theeeen his second. After a little bit of buttering up, some assurance to always be safe and a nudge of convincing to ride on the back, my mum was hooked. Even though I don’t have my own special lady in my life, I love getting on the back of a bike any chance I get.
My parents go to meet-up rides, quick trips to visit my sister and I or just decide to go on more spontaneous adventures to the mountains and beyond. They love going on the Black Dog Ride each year as well as watch bike shows. Now a family favourite – The Walking Dead star, Norman Reedus – has a fresh, killer new show on AMC that’s. Just. Awesome. Let me tell you why..
As I sit at my desk ready to type this piece for you, Tira is sleeping soundly on the floor next to my chair, soaking up her beloved sun.
She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s my pain in the ass.
Six years ago, my beloved, anti-social, skittish manx, Jasmin, was severely injured. It was violent, and still makes me feel sick and upset to think about to this day. She was in great health otherwise, so she could have undergone surgery, but I was unemployed at the time and couldn’t pay for her surgery, so I had to put her down. The love I had for her was something I had for nothing else before, so the condition she was in then the guilt of putting her down screwed me up for a long, long time. I couldn’t even bare the thought of going through that loss again, so getting another cat wasn’t an option- plus we had three cats in one house already. I was extremely content being the cuddler/food provider of our family cats.