Introducing our new lifestyle blogger Jane Pike who's dedicated to fashion, being a mum and not taking herself too seriously.
Gazing back over my past, it is clear to me that I have always way fancied myself as a rampaging Bad Ass.
You know the one. A kind of abstract-montage-pecha-kucha of Sandy in Grease, except I would have slapped on those leather duds right from the opening credits.
Bad Ass I tell you. My eyeliner would have been slightly thicker, and probably licked out to the side a bit.
And that chick Rizzo- I know you can hear me Rizzo- there would be no Sandy-putter-downer-ing from her. Not with the kind of Sandy I would be....was....AM.
Eherm.
No.
So as I hit 17 and my career exploded into the minimum wage market, I knew that this was my time. I was young. I was solvent. I had nailed the reverse park. I was ready for Vegas baby.
The only flaw in my plan was... well... I didn't much like doing the things that I considered fundamental to being a right proper Bad Ass. Like I didn't really like to drink that much. And I'm not only referring to alcohol here. I don't even particularly like fizzy drinks. Not Bad Ass at all.
Not only that, but I also really like to smile at people, especially if I pass them in the street. It's been an affliction for as long as I can remember. Like smile properly. And what's more, I hate it when they don't smile back. I take it as a personal affront. I mean, how hard is it? SMILE damn you!
Anyway, I'm sure you see what I mean. True Bad Asses would just give them the finger. I just get a bad neck from craning my head around to see if they are a bit late to reciprocate. One must not give up.
No. It appeared that my version of Bad Ass was going to have to be more underground.
Let's illustrate the point. Let us take for instance coffee, wine and the French. Firstly, I love them all. Secondly, they are fun. Thirdly, all three can be naughty during pregnancy. Stay with me here.
So, one day, after a sizeable lecture from an over-zealous cafe owner as to the negative effects of coffee to my then-pregnant person (post half-shot- latte order), I felt compelled to investigate the matter further. This wouldn't do. I needed a comeback. I felt sure that after eradicating every errant "E" number, every unpasteurized product and every under-done, slightly runny egg from my diet, I at least deserved the odd sneaky coffee.
Which takes me back to the French, bless their hearts. Their national health recommendation for coffee (and inadvertently wine) during pregnancy? To cut down to three shots of espresso and one glass of wine per day. Cut down! I knew I loved the French! As a national collective, they are exactly my sort of Bad Asses. I'll take my latte thanks, and what's more, put sugar in it too. Who's behind me? The whole French nation. Now give me my coffee.
Yes, it's the little things, I have decided, the little bits of Bad Ass, the sprinklings of Bad Ass on a daily basis that give you the title of overall Bad Ass wife, mother, person, writer. That leads to an overall Bad-ass life.
It's slapping on of the baby carrier, the child AND a pair of high heels. Appropriate? Appropriate schmopriate! Bad Ass I tell you. All the way to the bank.
Off topic still? Quite possibly so. But that is what you're going to get.
Life, style and parenting? Puh! This one's in the bag. Me and my Bad Ass ways, we're taking our hot diggity to the streets.
- Jane Pike is a writer and editor, running her business Urban Scribe from the sunny seascape of Purakanui, 30 minutes north of Dunedin.
Email Jane - fashion.i@online.odt.co.nz
An ODT Fashion-I for iD Dunedin Fashion Week, Jane is now a regular fashion and lifestyle contributor and blogger for the ODT. Halfway through her first children's novel (which experienced a momentary hiatus with the birth of her son, Flynn, now 18 months), Jane has also worked as a ghost writer and arts reviewer both locally and overseas.
Her previous life saw her employed overseas as an emergency aid relief worker, travelling and living throughout the Middle East, Europe and the Indian Subcontinent.
