FATTY FOODS = FATAL!

Image sourced from http://www.weheartit.com/.

Since (attempting!) to adopt a super-health-freak lifestyle (well, sort of), I have felt rather drained and miserable; apparently it takes 21 to 28 days to break or make a habit and let me tell you, it has been an arduous journey to reach any sort of gratification.

Last night, I was physically punished for breaking my health-kick; whilst indulging in after-dinner ice-cream, I slipped down a set of stairs, totally nailing myself, and more importantly, losing my half-eaten gluttonous treat!

This post has been written to pay homage to the Hokey-Pokey Cornetto casualty - whose remains were tossed, broken and melted, in my garden by JH - as well as to notify those thinking of giving in to their sweet-tooth that if guilt doesn't deter them from visiting the McDonald's drive-thru while trying to kick bad food to the curb, some higher-power will! Morbid, I know!

Cool, huh?

Image/recipe sourced from www.weheartit.com.

WHAT THE?

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The perfect Sunday

Image sourced from www.weheartit.com.

New York nostalgia

I can't eat. I can't sleep. My hands, shaking. My heart, pumping as crazily as a love-sick teen's upon seeing their ex, hand-in-hand, with their worst enemy. Yes, it happens! Spiralling downwards at a nauseatingly-fast pace, I am giving in to a disease that once you've caught, you can't shake. Wait. What? No, not it's not what you're thinking; I am suffering from the Travel Bug.

Image sourced from www.weheartit.com.

Viewing the travel photographs both taken by myself and others on Facebook has pushed me further down into a nostalgic pit, trapped and surrounded by memories of places seen and loved, ambitions of where to escape to next. What also plagues my thoughts - for an embarrassingly large part of each day - is one city in particular: I want to kiss it. Marry it. Embrace it. Share a cream-cheese covered bagel with it.

Image sourced from www.weheartit.com.

New York: I love you.

Jelly Beach

It seems apologies are handed out far too frequently on this blog; my lack of presence can be blamed on an insanely busy uni break, being chained to Gosford RSL club - my bad!

Now, it's a wet, overcast Saturday morning in February; my boyfriend has just left for Japan, I am without a fresh magazine to read, and can't be bothered to turn the kettle on - the perfect recipe for initiating a blog session! With the dreary weather kicking in - yet the humidity still manages to inconveniently hover over us! - I am reminded that the season of Summer, unfortunately, has an annual expiration date.

Summer, for Australians, brings hot, sticky Christmas', festivals packed with shirtless attendees (this may be viewed as a positive or negative characteristic of the Australian summer festival circuit), as well as days spent at the beach, followed by eating ice-cream in an air-conditioned house, nursing skin that, perhaps, got a little too sun-kissed. Summer is the smell of sunscreen, knotted buns situated on the tops of girls' heads, mangoes and cherries, and the smell of burning cash as wallets are left dry after endless parties and get-togethers across December and January.

I'm assuming you've heard the cliche saying: "all good things come to an end". Fortunately for us, there's no saying goodbye to Summer; we'll be back enjoying the stifling heat and trips to Jelly Beach in no time - we only have less than a year to wait!