'Cos I love su-u-ummer day-ays....

To those of you who aren't from the land of a big red rock called Uluru and the Sydney harbour bridge (and if you don't know what those are don't bother Googling them because they are just big things that we have in my country and aren't really that cool anyway); you may not have heard of Australian Hip-Hop. But just because you haven't, doesn't mean you shouldn't.

Note : I do not condone, appreciate or partake in any drug taking (other than nicotine and alcohol) - buuuuuut every stoner loves Aussie Hip-Hop. It's fucking funny as all hell whilst sober, and I've been told the funni-ness level increases the higher you get. Go figure.


Anyway .... moving on. Todays adventures anyone?

After waking up at the bright and early hour of 10am, getting ready and freaking out because it was 11:30 and I had work in an hour and I had to get to the city; somehow find a parking space, and make it to my first shift at the CBD store (scaaaaaaaaary) in less than that time. All without fucking up my hair, makeup or clothes.

When I got to work and parked in a frenzy, and then went down the billion escalators it took me to get to the top floor (where I work); I realised it was actually 10:30. The public school system = fail. Especially when it comes to teaching college kids how to read the time.

So I spent two hours smoking, eating MacDonalds and watching the clouds roll on by. I then made my way to the store, and was a bit taken aback by the amount of police officers in the area. And as I got closer I realised they were packed so tightly into the shop that they couldn't help spilling onto the corridor (okay, I might be exaggerating a little, but there were a good 5 or 6 coppers there; and it's not a big shop).

I entered to be greeted by a frazzled, yet still very friendly manager (K), who was the one that originally hired me; and our regional manager - who I shall from now on refer to as Eyebrow Piercing Dude (EPD). They both looked a little stressed, but not in too bad of spirits (on EPD's part this was probably because a couple of the officers wore their uniforms especially well ;) ). I didn't ask what had happened - but they told me anyway.

Don't you just love that about all fabulous gay men; they can't keep their fucking mouths shut when it comes to gossip and giving opinions on absolutely everything girl related. Except for vaginas. They usually just vomit copiously into the nearest vessel (or floor tile), when these parts of the anatomy are mentioned. Anyway...

Turns out, every single one of the CBD staff except me and K had gotten fired for shoplifting. Quite a tidy little venture, had they not been caught. Those girls surely moved over 3 grand of stock off the premises pretty quickly for (mostly) knocked-up dirty bitches. And that's me being polite.

Another note : I have very little respect for those who shoplift. And absolutley none at all for those who shoplift when the need isn't 100% desperate. And by desperate I mean 'my-family-will-starve-if-I-don't-steal-this-potato'; not 'I-am-so-bored-and-pregnancy-hormones-are-fucking-with-my-already-unsteady-mind-sooooooo-let's-steal-stuff'.

So the short and short of it is that I'm working almost every day for the rest of my summer holidays. Which is good because I get paid, but bad because I will go back to school
a) more tired than ever
and b) more pale than ever; as working indoors gets in the way of my tanning schedule in a major way

Also, this week I will be expected (after no more than 7 shifts at this new job, give or take) to singlehandedly run the store, open, close and do banking. By myself. Alone. All day.

Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeck!

<< A very accurate depiction of my place of employment

In other news.

As I was driving some friends to go clubbing (lucky bitches have ID's); we pulled up next to a car who drove next to us almost all the way to the city. 15 minutes into this little race (at the speed limit, of course); I realised the messages I was getting weren't from IBYFCB (who had come and visited me at work that day and not stopped messaging me since), Lover, or Paintball Dude. They were from Uteboy.

Uteboy is a 20 year old, and a fairly sad excuse for one at that. He was a lift-bitch (one whom I scabbed car rides home/to school with), as his work was close to my school, and he drove me around unpaid (and I mean... completely unpaid, if you catch my drift) for almost a year. And this includes times when I would ignore him for weeks at a time, and then message him and expect him to pick me up half an hour later because it was raining and I couldn't be fucked to catch the bus in the wet. I am totally lazy and a bitch, and I'm okay with it. Sort of.
But only because I only take advantage of penis carriers with not much humor or intellect also dwelling in the same body. And because God gave me boobies for a reason (if not just to get what you want, then what else? And don't say to feed children - because Udders would be way more effective for that and he gave us boobs instead).

And as it turns out, he was driving to the city in the car next to us, messaging me as we went along. He then later on proposed that I 'come out to the club' (he knows I'm not 18, way to rub it in); that I should come and give him 'a kiss', and that I should meet him in 'the carpark'. So... clearly a year has taught this boy nothing. If anything he should have learned that I will NEVER get with him (not that he's ugly, he's cute; just not in a bangable way), especially if it has nothing for me in it.  Boys with this little intellect seriously shouldn't be allowed out in public.

But that's just my opinion.

Seeing as Lover has been seriously sick for the past couple of days and snogging-fest-2011 has been postponed, I have been seeking out Paintball Dude. Or rather, replying in a nice fashion to his texts and messages.

It must be stated that I am showing attention ONLY so that I can go see a free movie, and have free coffee and a laugh. I'll leave all shagging and snogging up to Lover (once he's no harbouring longer an illness waiting to jump into my nasal cavity). Just in case you thought I was going soft and not being a cold, hard bitch.

So, out of boredom and lonliness (and spite that I'm the ONLY ONE OUT OF EVERYONE EVER INVENTED that doesn't have an ID or 18 years under my belt), I decided I would take the poor guy up on his most recent offer. and meet up with Paintball Dude.

This was regardless of the fact that I knew perfectly well that I was supposed to see him on Friday and Saturday night and go on two seperate dates within those two days; and that whenever he talks for more than 30 seconds uninterrupted my brain totally shuts down and I am unable to do anything more than smile and nod occassionally.

I'm sure he's a really funny guy. I just can't be bothered listening.

So me and Paintball Dude chilled for a couple of hours (til 12:30... ooooooops), doing nothing but smoking (me, mainly) and talking (him, mainly). And then he went home, an hour and a half later than he'd told his totally strict Croatian father he was on his way home. I'm sure that wen't down REEEALLY well... hehe ;).

So I probably will be dateless due to PD's probable groundedness for the next couple of nights (seriously who grounds their almost 19 year old son these days?!), but it does mean I'll have more time to blog. Not that anyone reads this drivel anyway
:)




Love from the Cold Hard Bitch (who really is just warm Milo on the inside, with extra marshmallows).
Be good... but if you're too good, you get a spanking anyway. Because that's just way more fun than a choccy biccy and warm milk.

And Some Days ...

I have days where everything I do and say is fucking exciting and/or hilarious (at least that's how I feel), and I squeeze through all sorts of little scrapes; with only a bruise or the slightly blurry memory to remind me of it - as I drink to the adventure later on; a refreshing beverage in hand, and in the company of some close pallies.

Or when I sit there remembering those times with all the crew at a party, hot and sweaty (but still fabulous) after dancing in heels and little dresses for hours, feet aching like we've walked a thousand miles and our whole body calling for sleep (which incidentally will never come).

Then I have other days - like today - where the most exciting thing I do is go to the shops and buy a packet of cigarettes and some sushi and drive home complaining to myself about how shit life is etc. etc.

People in other cars even stare at me like I'm a loony-escapee who just escaped out of a loony-bin; as I complain to myself (often times out loud), driving along. Today a little kid even pointed at me. I yelled at him through the glass, "So now you're the only one allowed to have an imaginary friend?!?!?! F*#%ing Ageism these days! Not young enough to harmlessly console myself out loud, but not old enough to drown my sorrows in loud music and drunken boys at a night club?!?!?! Where, oh baby Jesus, is the compassion in this world!".

Luckily (or unluckily, as the case may be); this small child did not hear my words, as their parents drove off; and I'm pretty sure I wasn't yelling loud enough to penetrate two layers of glass. However, I will content myself with the fact that the child in question -

a) now is perfectly oblivious to the world of teenage angst they will come to befriend in a mere 12 or 13 years

b) will be too afraid to leave the safety of their parents watchful supervision as they may be attacked by a Passion-Fruit-resembling-loony; and thus have self-taught themselves about 'Stranger Danger'

and c) , even if they could hear what I was saying, I doubt it would make any sense to their 3 year old brain.


And that was my totally beautiful and interesting day.

The only other highlight was getting more or less ignored by current lover-boy.
Earth to Lover :
I'm not looking for an in-depth conversation, an engagement ring or even a BOYFRIEND. All I want is a snog (ok I lie, a shag) and someone to share a cigarette with. For god's sake he doesn't even have to supply the cigarette!

Time to find a new one me-thinks. God knows how I managed to pick him out of all the other stupid girl-obsessed Italians running around. In fact, I've been warned off them before by a (possibly-homosexual-pending-further-enquiry) male friend; who had this to say on the topic of men of this ethnicity.

" Never go for those boys. all they want is for you to make them pasta, buy a BMW, become a so called 'Catholic', be dodgy and wear filthy Adidas clothing and have mullets... " ~ E

Wise, wise words. Why did I not listen...
Better still, why didn't I manage to find one who would have had a BMW. There would at least have been a point to shagging him then...


I guess, if I actually listened to E's advice, I might have learned something. And that is something we definitely couldn't have.

Chin up little ones, I'm sure I'll be back to fabulousity soon enough.
x

 ** UPDATE **

Dear Munchkins,

I decided to revisit and revise this post, as it was thoroughly boring and utterly shit-house.

I thought I might actually finish this post off by telling you a story about the boy I am going on a date with this weekend. He shall be known as Paintball Guy, as he works at a Paintball Range and enjoys dressing me up in his Paintballing gear.

We met one night a month or so ago, in a dark and lonely time when the lover was away at the coast (irresponsible boy that he his left me by myself for New Years as well - so I just kissed someone else at midnight ;) ). It was one boring night, and my best (straight) guy mates (we will call him Triton, after his awesome ute I sometimes drive) was just chilling at his house, whilst his whole family was up in QLD working on their house up there (his Dad own's a building company that he also works in). Their house is quite fucking amazing, it has two stories in brick and wood, with a deck/balcony complete with fully built-in BBQ area and sunk in swimming pool.

So this one night me and two of my friends went over (Barbie the stunning blonde besty I've had for years and years, and one of my other reallllllly good friends M who is also a total babe) and had a BBQ and a swim with Triton as his friends from his old school (all boys school may I add).

As I was driving, and Barbie doesn't drink, we were just being our normal selves (which is probably not that normal), and M was getting a little tipsy, with some of the boys joining her. However, we were controlling ourselves fairly well; and after chilling in the pool for a couple of hours we got out and ate and (the boys and I) smoked.

By this point (lets just call him...... Paintball Guy) was fairly drunk. And a couple of the other boys were on their way there. They were all very nice though, and as a matter of fact Barbie is going on a date with another one of them sometime in the new future as well. Once everyone else went inside, only me and Paintball Guy were outside with his friend Wombat Boy (because his nickname sounds like wombat, and he resembles one), chuffing some cigarettes and eating steak.

Paintball Guy somehow got it in his head that rapping/singing to me in pretty awful Croatian would be a good way to woo me (I suppose), but all it really achieved was the feeling of breaking all my ribs in silent laughter with Wombat Boy. I don't even speak Croatian and I could tell he was both tone deaf and shit at his national tongue. After a couple of songs, he asked me if I would go to the movies with him - and mainly out of pity I found myself agreeing. Also because if I didn't he might not have let me dress up in his Paintballing gear, and that would have been a TRAGEDY (it seemed like a good idea at the time)!

"Heck, I figured, he probably wouldn't remember it by the next morning!" I reasoned to myself.

I was very, very wrong. Not only did he remember; he told all the boys I asked HIM out! Luckily they all realised he was talking shit; and pissed themselves laughing the next night when they told me of this little 'development' at 12am in the Macca's carpark. I almost inhaled my lit cigarette up my left nostril, that's how hard we were all laughing!

He messaged me for a couple of days, until the day when we were supposed to have our date (coincedentially the same day Lover came back); but messaged me on the day saying that he was grounded and couldn't make it. I had been trying to get out of it by making it seriously akward, and was quite pleased with the result at the time.

However, when he messaged me tonight and asked if we could go out this weekend, it was a Hallelujah moment. I've been feeling so alooooone recently, it was nice that someone wanted to see me.

Well, a male someone. And he doesn't even expect me to fuck him! So I'm going, and bollocks to all those little voices in the back of my head telling me it's a bad idea.

Hope that this has made your reading slightly more less boring and depressing.

Muchos Loveeeeeeee Amigos

How To Catch A Pony

Dear Readers

Today, instead of entertaining you with a hilarious anecdote of my latest and greatest stunts and achievements, I thought I might distract you with a fully illustrated guide to catching ponies - to disguise the fact I am indeed far too lazy to write a half-decent post.

Please take this 'advice' with a warning, and a grain of salt. Ponies are mischevious and devilsome little creatures who would probably rather walk across hot coals than do any form of work (and the main objective once they are caught is often to exercise them). They will avoid being caught at almost any cost.

The only way to lure them in is with bait, preferably a carrot, apple or bucket of horse pellets.

However, the tricky little sh*ts will often eat it and f*ck off, with only a kick in your direction for your troubles.

Be careful the kick in your direction doesn't turn into a couple of hours in the ER and several days bedrest with a broken face.

It would probably be better to just ignore my instructions completely and never go near a pony; but that wouldn't be fun or adventurous (or distracting) would it.


Pip pip good fellows, and bon voyage for the wherever todays adventures take you.

p.s

I will probably blog tomorrow, whingeing of sunburn and the like - as I am going to the pool; and my near-albino skin doesn't react well to sunlight. But don't let me tell you I didn't know what I was getting myself into.

The same thing happens EVERY SINGLE TIME I go to the pool; and I never learn.

Oh well.

x

Shit Gets Serious

And I'm sorry guys, but it's my blog and I'll whine if I want to. Even if it's my fault and I know exactly what I've done wrong as a responsible and consenting adult individual of age. And I bet almost everyone out there will want to kick me in the head for being a stupid teenage girl, who is having a whinge for being stupid teenage girl.

I'm so used to having the upper hand that it fucking scares me so much when someone has it over me. The only problem is that it makes me want that person quite a bit more. I've had a fair share of boys. Only slept with one or two; and haven't really done much with anyone else. But it's not for lack of opportunity. It's not even for lack of opposition on their parts. It's just mine.

I don't have a problem at all with other people having sex with a lot of people. It's just me, myself and my own lady parts.

One of the girls I work with is an adult; and she's had boyfriends. Many. Long term ones even, and older ones at that. But she's still a virgin. I almost wish that I had her self control. But then again, I really don't. I like having sex. It's fun and I always feel like I'm doing something good for my body. Exercise is good for you after all.

The only problem is that before the current lover, I'd only had sex with my ex-boyfriend. And he was very attentive; in fact he barely left me alone. I never trusted anyone who showed too much interest after that. Didn't want to make the same mistake again. And somehow it seems I've made the same mistake of picking the wrong guy again, but worse. I've started fucking someone who's actually the exact same person as me. Just with some balls and a dick where the tits should be. Not exactly the same spot... but still.

And funnily enough my attention-whore self really doesn't like tasting my own medicine.

Oh well. It's not like I'm going out with or married to the SOAB (Son of a bitch). I can just as easily forget his pretty little Italian ass and go find something even tastier. Even though the sex is pretty decent. I guess I'll just find someone who wants more than a booty call, and save my current lover for when I'm feeling extra-specially lonely.

That sounded slutty. But what doesn't these days? Jesus even Macca's sounds slutty. 'I'm lovin' it'? Now, that sounds like you're a Kings Cross Hooker looking for an extra tip.

Also, unrelatedly. Me and my little brother just rescued one of these.

It's a striped marsh frog, and the source of the mysterious croaking noise coming from under our Christmas tree. But now it's outside and hopped away after a little convincing my ferocious attack terrier (aka oversized slightly overweight canine white rat-resembling pet).

So chin chin good chaps, and top of the morning to you.
Or evening. Whatever.

x

The Reason I Am Currently Brain Dead and Uninteresting :)

Dear Readers (not that there are many of you - but regardless),

I must apologize sincerely for being completely f*cking boring. It is because I started work yesterday, and my body and brain (six months out of work) have been completely f*cked over by lack of sleep + a 9 hour shift.

This is what my brain now looks like:

Let's just say he's not happy. Will write when it gets a little more contented.

Also, don't unfollow me because of the swearing. It's a side effect of serious sleep deprivation. Google it if you don't believe me.

Love and pancakes

xx

The Very Sad Truth

People tend to be brutally honest with me. They think I can take it. Which I can. It's more that I just feel incredibly stupid for never having picked up these super simple pieces of information about myself; when strangers or people I barely know notice them right away.

For example .

Today on the cyber-wonder that is Facebook, I had a conversation with I'll Bite Your Face C*nt Boy.

So called because one day I was eating pizza at a friends and he was giving me a massage, and all of a sudden he leaned over and bit my cheek really hard. I'm fairly certain there were teeth marks imprinted on my face for several hours afterwards, and was suprised it didn't bruise. Strange boy. He likes to fantasize about killing children, and takes steroids. A fair bit. He also likes me; and has decided that we're soulmates and therefore, married. I talk back to him purely because he is quite hilarious, and because my current lover is nowhere near as clingy as he is and I'm an attention whore and need to be appreciated. The fact I'm slightly afraid he'll stab me in my sleep if I don't reply to his messages has NOTHING to do with it, I swear.

But I digress. Here is the conversation that took place, and to make it slightly shorter and less annoying to read I have so nicely abbreviated his name to IBYFCB.

IBYFCB  : Wanna be my super awesome gf ?

 

Me : Sure. What does it involve ?

 

IBYFCB : Um you lose all contact with other boys, you love me and we will do cute stuff.

 

Me : Is there a slightly less effort involving version?

 

IBYFCB : This is why your single :(

 

 

Why is everyone always so right about me? And why do I fail to realise these things about myself?

Oh well.

 

 

Be good little ones, til next time.

Signs from Heaven, Sushi and Le Asshole

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah :)

^ You see that? THAT my dear friends, is my sigh of relief and content when two months of near grovelling paid off. Because today, I was woken up by a magical phone call (and yes, it was such an important phone call that I did not yell down the phone line and make the caller wish they'd waited until I had a couple more hours sleep and several delicacies from MacDonalds in my belly - I actually politely listened and replied).

Do you want to know why I sighed that exact sigh of relief after that exact (magical) phone call? Who am I kidding, no one gives a flying eff-muncher what it was about. But I will tell you anyway.

I got a call at 11:30am telling me that I started work tomorrow.

:) :) :)

I know it may not seem a very exciting prospect to those of you out there with nice jobs and cushy little salaries (mundane, even?); but for little old almost-6-months-out-of-work me - let's just say I couldn't have been happier.

And as I hopped out of bed and sprung down the stairs, without falling for once, and put on the kettle to make my morning Hot Milo; I thought to myself - clearly someone is feeling sorry for me up there in the cloudy kingdom of Heaven, I wonder what other lovely things they are going to send my way to pull me out of my well of stinkivity (or life, as some call it).

So I hopped on the internet and did a little checking of my various accounts; Blogger, Facebook... even the Twitter account I used twice and abandoned yonks ago. But it wasn't til I got to my hotmail that I discovered the second of todays miracles.

My little inbox, which for weeks hadn't popped up over 47 unread messages (all of the unread ones are just unimportant Spam emails from places I accidently gave my real email to, instead of my fake 'come-at-me-hackers-and-spam-cos-I'm-not-gunna-read-you-anyway' one); suddenly had 3 new offerings.

Two of them were unbotherable (one from a driving school? HELLO PEOPLE I already have my licence, and even when I didn't that didn't stop me! ... and one from my mum, which was accidental, as she loves my brother more than me and every now and then sends me an email which was meant for him which I'm sure was just a ploy to make me jealous...) - but the third was GOLD. I finally heard back from this promotions company I emailed months ago.

The whole thing started when I ran into friends giving out lollies (and eating a good share of them too) at a local shopping centre, and was like, 'What the hell? Why are you giving away lollies? Are you poisoning children or just trying to be nice for Christmas so Santa gets you a Sugar-Daddy and an apartment with ocean views??"

Turns out they were at work, giving out lollies to 'patrons' of the shopping centre, whilst actually shopping and eating the lollies (the poor little sugary bastards didn't stand a chance against the girls) - all the while getting paid nearly $20 p/h for their.... how shall I put this...              troubles?

Depressed and downtrodden after my failed attempt to get a job (which, as you read above - I GOT TODAYYYYY); I immediately enquired as to whether they were hiring. The girls gave me and email address and as soon as I got home (and remembered - so like a week or so later), I dropped them a line.

Anywho, today I opened my inbox to find an email from the promotions place, chock-a-block with information and lovely long attatchments for me to print out, sign and send in; in essence meaning - I GOT ANOTHER JOB.

Suddenly I felt like the Heavens were definitley shining down on me and I read on feverishly, my heart suddenly stopped (like a-dead-dude-when-he-hits-the-concrete-after-jumping-off-a-multi-story-carpark-kind-of-stop), as I read the last line of the email.


" Also, we would like to meet you next week on Tuesday Morning at 9.00am, would this time work for you?

Hope you are having a great week and I look forward to meeting you! "


No I cannot meet you, as I will probably going to be at work at my other new job on Tuesday Morning at 9am. Damn and blast! Why could you not have sent me this a week or two earlier and asked to have a catch up then, when I was not employed elsewhere?!?! Anyway, I calmed myself down, taking a large gulp of my milo (hot and strong, just the way I like it ;) ) and decided that clearly the big G was just making a slightly more intricate plan for my future employment. Maybe the offices would burn down on Tuesday and he was saving me from smoke innhalation and possible singeing of the eyebrows. Or maybe they were actually zombie demons trying to lure me in to eat my brains, and so by making me unable to attend the appointment he was actually saving my life. Smiling to myself and my wisdomosity (I like that word, just made it up, isn't it beautiful); I proceeded to download and print said forms.

And my printer decided to not work. Le asshole! What a time to go on the blink. But, remembering back to yesterday, and my solemn promise (haha - more of a boredom-and-curiousity-induced psychotic episode) to be healthy; I remembered that anger and stress are actually bad for you, and your blood pressure, and I was trying to avoid these things.

Then I remembered I still had a half a packet of Malboro's that my best mate gifted to me yesterday as she dropped me home; and went outside and smoked several. So I attempted to make them print again, lost my temper, hit Le Asshole with my hand on a weird angle and made it all tingly-sore; then sat down with the remainder of my milo and sore hand and wrote to you. Just in case you were in need of hearing about the mad rantings of an overtired (and now overstressed) teen.


And totally unrelatedly my Christmas present from dear daddy arrived today. And he really came up with the goods this time (like he actually did, it's pretty dang awesome if I do say so myself). He sent me, all the way from NZ, a SUSHI-MAKER! Dah-duh! And the weird thing is that when I woke up I was craving sushi. And now I'm thinking about it, as soon as I buy seaweed and boils some rice, I can make a hundred billion rolls of sushi in a hundred billion new-and-never-before-seen-or-tested flavours. For instance... pizza filling? I personally think that a Dominoes meat lovers on puff pastry, cut up into tiny strips and wrapped seaweed and rice would make a delicious and delectable new addition to the Sushi flavours family.

So chin chin good chaps. Top of the morning to you, and hope your day takes you somewhere marvellous. Even if todays marvellous-ness just consists of dreams of Dominoes-sushi.

Much love
Passionfruit Head

In Other News

Today (or yesterday I should say) I concluded some important things.

Firstly - I should definitley give up smoking, McDonalds and midnight snacks of salami sandwiches as me and my best friend have joined a gym and are trying to be healthy - not in the right spirit somehow.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA !
I actually just had the same reaction reading that as my best friend's boyfriend did when I told him. Except for that he laughed so hard he snorted and hit his head on the wall; and I did not.

Also... don't walk into the front garden of the gym you are about to join with Maccas in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette in the other. Just sets a bad precedent.

But I digress...

Secondly - I should never let the aforementioned best friend anywhere in the near vacinity of my phone again. Even if I am being attacked by her ferocious attack budgie. Because even a vicious pecking is less painful than the embarrassment when she sends messages like 'I WANT YOU NOW' to who she thought was your current lover - but actually turns out to be a family member. I would rather, in fact, be attacked by several birds than suffer this fate - even though birds are my number 3 fear beneath Heights and Feet.

Thirdly and finally - wash out blonde toner fully. Instead of the promised 'rid-your-hair-of-yellow-and-gold-tones' effect it was supposed to have, I now resemble a passionfruit. Good on you yellow and purple hair, it has always been my dream and lifes ambition to resemble a tropical fruit.
NOT EVEN FISH ARE THIS RIDICULOUSLY COLOURED!
OR BUDGIES!
I'm pretty sure they didn't even make a POKEMON with this combination of hues!!! I think I will from now on only leave my house with a headscarf wrapped tightly over my abominable excuse for hair.
If I only I had money to get a proper shop job on it, but that would mean exposing myself to definite humiliation in front of both patrons and hairdressers. And scaring any children in the salon.

Because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't go back to a hairdressing place if the result going was running after my child as they ran into traffic in a blind and panicked frenzy screaming, "MUM THE GIANT PASSIONFRUIT ON LEGS IS GOING TO EAT MY SOUL!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAH!!!"


Goodnight my little bloglets, sleep well. And if you see someone resembling a large fruit walking around the town, just act casual :)

Getting Back Into It

I like to ride ponies, and a lot of my friends do too. I used to work with them, go out to mine twice a day to look after him, and ride almost every day. Then my old pony was retired, and I got a new one. The new boy's a nice chap, but he's just young and dumb - and due to my total pussiness I don't even ride him anymore. To be honest though, I gave it over a years worth of a go before giving up and resigning myself to the ground.

I've gotten on and ridden a couple of peoples horses since I stopped riding, but only really as a plod along. I haven't really tried to ride properly in about 4 months; the only exception being when I go and work out at my trainers and he puts me on his schoolmaster - a beautiful classically trained Spanish horse who does everything that's asked of him... even if it is by an out of practice teenager.

The other day a really good friend of mine offered to let me ride her little brothers horse. Lets just call this pony 'D'. D is a total schoolmaster at 19, and having been pretty much everywhere and done pretty much everything - even I felt fairly safe and secure. I mean... if her little brother whose a totally novice 7 year old can ride D unnassisted, so can I. And to the total suprise of myself, I actually could. After a little bit of walking and trotting yesterday, I even got her flexing and stretching properly today. I even cantered. And I feel so alive, like the part of me that I've been missing without even realising it has come back and shuffled it's way in.

Even the summer rain can't dampen how I feel. Which is kind of like a billion helium balloons are tied to my ass and I'm fucking floating on air. Except only like 10cm, because any higher and I'd start screaming for my life due to being too high up.

Anywho, the point of this post is to tell you not to give up on anything you love. Even if it's actually gone, remember it. But if it's not, go the fuck back and get into it. Because if it makes you feel like smiling, or laughing, or takes your mind off whatever else is not so good; it's worth it. Because I want you all to fly!

:)

Blonde Bombshells

So it's pretty much accepted that the Western Standard of beauty is blonde, with blue eyes, boobs and skinny everything else. But to be honest, I don't entirely agree. To be honest, I'm a big fan of the sandy/honey blonde, with waves or curls and a little regrowth - rather than the platinum 'plastic' look at the moment. The dirtier blonde reminds me of the pictures of mermaids I used to look at when I was little (before I decided I wanted to ride horses and drive fast cars instead of playing shop and mummy).
However - there are a lot of dirty looking blondes out there, and even those who usually represent the hair colour with sophistication and poise slip up every now and then.

It can be done so nicely though, and while I wait for my hair to settle into this lot of dye so I can then go to the hairdressers and get it fixed; I thought I'd soothe my soul with some beautiful blondes tresses.

Twiggy, ever the style inspiration. Only she could pull off a hairstyle like this with her big eyes and slightly imperfect style. I think the reason she was so beautiful is that she seemed slightly uncomfortable in her own skin, well at least that's what I see in photos. There was an innocence there, almost a real life goldilocks sort of thing. I could totally picture her stealing some porridge and using that look to try and get out of it.

Nicole Richie - beachy blonde. Not the biggest fan , but I do like her hair.

Caramel blonde looked really good on Mischa Barton, but a lot of people can't pull it off. Also love the layers on her, they add so much class.

Crazy curly blonde hair on Aly Milchalk (think that's how you spell it). A bit too blonde perhaps? I reckon a little bit of dark undertones would add to it but it's still nice.

I like the colour of her sister AJ's hair, but I do prefer waves. I think she looks really nice here though, and I am more a fan of her colour in this photo than Aly's; just looks nice and natural.

 Debbie Harry. Where can I begin? Well it goes without saying that she has to be in this post, because not only was she a hot blonde; but she was the only blonde/female member of a band called Blondie. Her style was so edgy, and I think it's inspired a lot of the dirty blondes of today. I can totally see Kesha in the photo of her on the top right. I think she pulled it off with a little more class though, not that I'm against Kesha at all. I just think it looks nice a little classier.

Kate Moss, ever the babe, even if she's always in the headlines for something or another. Sometimes I'm not a big fan of her style, it's almost too trashy, but sometimes she pulls it off nicely. I do like the colour of her hair though, especially recently when its been a little darker underneath and more honey on top.

I really like the way Kesha has brought dirty blonde back into fashion, not single handedly, but she's had a big influence. This photo probably isn't the best to showcase her slight trashbag style; I like it when it's a bit darker - but to be honest this probably suits her better. The only problem I have with Kesha is that a lot of the time she has her hair too much on the trashy side and less on the wild. But when it was a little darker underneath and she has little plaits and stuff in really long crazy hair I reckon it looks super amazing. And definite kudos to her - I don't think many others out there could pull it off!

Miss Lohan. I really like this colour on her - although she looked really good with her natural red also. It's a really nice colour, but not really as beachy as I like. I reckon it looks really classy though.

Hilary Duff is in here because her hair is pretty much sexy as feck. Perfect beachy waves, with subtle layers and dark undertones. It's just wild enough to have class without looking like she spent hours having it done (which she almost definitley did). One of my favourite blondes yet.

And what would this be, without the beautiful Marilyn Monroe. Her hair was obviously dyed, but it suited her so much! Noone would have paid anywhere near as much attention to her if she was brunette. I just love the way she was able to change it up from looking perfectly manicured and then sometimes like she'd just rolled out of bed with her hair a little flyaway and the tiniest bit out of control. But at the same time, ALWAYS classy. I obviously prefer the latter, but there was something to be said for the former as well. Oh Marilyn. Always an inspiration; and a pleasure to behold. 

Sometimes I wish I was a dude so I could be attracted to these babes. Unfortunately I don't swing that way, so I just have to be jealous and admire them simeltaneously - which slightly dilutes their babeness.

Oh well.

Also - just to be clear, my blog isn't just about clothes and hair. It will eventually have other stuff in it too. It's just that this is what I was thinking about when I sat down at the computer. So this is what my offering for today is.

Keep it ninja babes .

Tidbits

Here are some little nuggets of pointless information about my latest escapades which may or may not entertain you.

Out on The Town
Went out to the City a couple of nights ago (and not to go clubbing, as I'm underage and have yet to find a suitable ID); to view some of the state and surrounding area's finest petrol fueled monstrosities. And yes, I am talking about Nats. However, I didn't have the money to go the actual event itself until today, and of course the big guy in the sky decided that it should definitley rain today (also, why is it raining in January? Australian summers are supposed to be all about bronzed bodies and beachy activities - not worrying if Noah has had time to build the Arc yet). Getting back to the actual point, me and a couple of friends waited until it got dark and headed out to our state's pathetic excuse for a CBD and watched the action (and 28 cop cars); whilst trying to avoid being bottled or abducted. It was an enjoyable experience, albeit slightly harrassing. I swear to God, every male in the vacinity had to greet us, and I'm not talking about a friendly 'nice-to-meet-you'. I don't think I've ever experienced so many wolf-whistles, open and obvious stares and bad pickup lines. Serves me right for dying my hair blonde I suppose; in the dark the cat-piss-yellow glare it must give off obviously blinds those with XY chromosones to an extent at which they can't see it looks like I was hit with not only the ugly stick, but all the rest of the tools and instruments handy in the ugly tools garage - with a bit of excessive force from the shovel in the face department.

I Want
And just to prove that I'm a normal teenage girl, here is my current dress crush. I'm just in love with the colour. I think it would look amazing with beachy wooden and slightly faded gold jewellry, long wavy light brown hair with sandy highlights and a killer tan. Unfortunately I don't have any of the above. And even if I did, three of my friends wore this exact dress to their formals this year. But I can still dream (and drool).

Boarding House Antics
I am lucky enough to have never been in the position of living in a boarding house. A few of my friends haven't been so lucky. Me and one of my all time ever favourite best friends (let's just call her Barbie) recently went to visit a couple of our friends who are unfortunate enough to live in one. We watched movies happily for hours before realising 15 minutes from the end of Pineapple Express that we couldn't leave via any normal exits (ie the front door, or the back door, or any door for that matter). So after we'd finished the movie and dithered for a bit, Barbie and I followed our friends to the exit point. We went down to one of the stairwells and proceeded to climb and slide down the outside two stories and then walk around the back of the building to the carpark. It was pitch black and I'm extremely afraid of heights. Like, vomit-inducing from the mere thought of rock climbing afraid. However, not having a housekey for several months and thus having to climb through a second story window at all hours of the day and night via an unstable pagola have hardened me up. Still, I almost shat myself and was shaking for half an hour after that particular adventure. I suppose the moral of this story - plan your escape!



Well I'm off to do more adventuring.

Cheers babe(s)

In The Beginning

Just so that the first blog I post has a basis in (sort-of)fact, I decided to UrbanDictionary search what they actually are.

Here are a couple of results ...

Blog

Meaning 1

n.
Short for weblog.
A meandering, blatantly uninteresting online diary that gives the author the illusion that people are interested in their stupid, pathetic life. Consists of such riveting entries as "homework sucks" and "I slept until noon today."

v. intr.
The act of posting to a weblog.

Meaning 2

Short for weblog. Blogs originally had purpose when the few people who had them actually had interesting and/or informative things to say. These blogs still exist, and are quite enjoyable to read, however the advent of blogger.com and livejournal.com has changed this once meaningful application into utter shit, allowing every day idiots to write about how shitty their lives are and why everyone should care.

Good Blog: Informative news, real humor and entertainment. Often build and published by someone with a brain.

Bad Blog: "School sucks", what you had for lunch, why your depressed because your 14 year old boyfriend dumped you and its the end of the world.

Needingless to say, I quickly decided that the majority of people who posted on this website are cynical and judgemental. Then after a little blog-cruising of my own I realised they were right, the majority of the authors were writing about the totally mundane in a surprisingly boring-yet-overdramatic manner. Finally I decided that although some of the blogs out there are  - how can I put this nicely... - just the ways in which people choose to document 'how shitty their lives are and why everyone should care' ; the authors of these particular UrbanDictionary entries, and everyone else in the blog-world should keep their minds open.

Everyone's shit still stinks, it's just that some people manage to make it more interesting to read about than others. And even if the stink of their shit is so strong it makes you gag, a little respect still stops you getting dragged down into it.

The reason this particular blog is about IS to document the occasionally shitty, vaguely but rarely exciting, and slightly mediocre story of my growing up. And to put it simply, this adventure's not quite the yellow brick road. But I'm not here to whinge and complain about any flying monkeys I come across (although to be honest, if I keep this blog caper up I'm sure that I will rant and rage every now and then). I'm just here to enjoy the journey, I'm not even fussed if I never get to Oz.

To be honest I kind of wish I was a Lost Boy - you have to admit, never growing up sounds pretty appealing. Especially at this age, when I've got my whole life before me when the amount of possibilities are simultaneously terrifying, exciting and exhausting. I'm not quite sure whether to run away with my tails between my legs or beg with my tail wagging and tongue lolling out. But I've decided to give it a good go, and try my hardest to have fun doing it.

And to be honest, a bit of knowledge gained as I go wouldn't go astray. Even though I've made enough mistakes to fill up several thousand of those annoying movies where everything keeps goes wrong and watching it makes me all irritable and bothered, I can't wait to make more. Because to me that's what life is - mistakes and everything in between.



So here I am bitches, let me at it.