Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Home; Vietnam Part 1

I'm back from the land of no facebook, no walled showers, no chicken bahn mi (Mascot 1, Vietnam 0) and no tolerance to alcohol, from what I've seen.
Seriously. Don't give a group of Vietnamese people endless amounts of wine. It will end badly. But more on that later (spoiler alert!)

I went back to work today. It was incredibly disappointing. And I've have a dull headache on and off for like a week, which is never fun when you spend 6 hours in front of a computer. And talking on the phone to people who often seem to enjoy sharing random things about their personal life- despite the fact that I don't care about your dermalogical issues, or your pet cat's affinity with perching on your tin roof, I just care about you booking in and paying your deposit so I can get my $10 commission.

Sales person honesty. There's nothing like it.

So on Wednesday the airport shuttle arrived 20 minutes early. It had been booked for 7:15am, then the night before they rang and told us they'd have to pick us up at 7am and of course, what time did they show up? 6:40am. Seriously. 20 minutes early. How stupid is that? I mean what if we hadn't even showered? They robbed me of 20 minutes of watching Sunrise on the couch with James. I couldn't finish my totally amazeballs juice. And then of course I had to deal with 20min extra of my Dad talking to us but really to himself (you know, when people ask questions or make comments about something you're not involved in, like a TV show they're watching for example, and then expect you to respond with something other than "hmm.")

Of course, as things generally work in the world, despite running 20minutes early, our plane was 40 minutes delayed. Delays are like some big secret at the airport. Seriously, if it's less that 90 minutes they don't bother making an announcement. Which means you're sitting there, scared to go to the bathroom in case the boarding call comes while you're in there and somehow everyone before you gets on the plane in the 3 minute round trip. I read a Marian Keyes article on the very subject of how horrid it is to fly and she brings up the very issue of delays, and the way the staff seem to pretend there is no delay, almost like you won't notice that you're taking off an hour after it was scheduled. I mean, after all the delay, you end up taxi-ing for about 3 years while they wait for a bit of space in that tiny thing they call the sky to take off in. And once they land at the other end, it's almost as if the airport suddenly realises they need to get the walkway ready, so that people can actually disembark.

The worst bit is, it's like I'm the only person on the damn flight who knows these things. When they call for rows "25 to 46" to board and 90% of the people run to line up, so they can get on the plane first- just to have that 5 minutes extra of holding up traffic by messing with your over head locker, accidentally sitting on you seat belt and having to scramble around for it, and checking the entertainment system even though you know the chances of it being usable before takeoff are slim to none. You know that no one in the rows called have bothered lining up because the line is overflowing with people who get ready 5 minutes before the predicted boarding time. Honestly though, if I worked at the gates, and I called certain rows, and someone from another row tried to board, I'd tell them where to stick it. I'd make them wait till the very end to board. Which, in reality, would be a blessing for them.

Then when you're finally on the plane, there's those irritating people who seem to think they have to put their hand luggage in the overhead lockers as soon as is humanly possible. You know the ones, it's about 85% of passengers. They stop in front of you, usually excruciatingly close to your row, and spend about 10 minutes trying to shove their above-the-carry-on-size-limit suitcase into the overhead, before finally acknowledging that another bag couldn't possibly fit in the inch wide space left and finding another section of the locker to shove it into. Then they give you that casual apologetic there's-nothing-I-can-do-smile and every time I feel like kicking them.

A word for the wise: Find your row. Get in your row. Wait for a space in the progression down the plane aisle. Put your bag in an overhead locker, with the minimum amount of your body protruding into the walking aisle, so someone could squeeze past if necessary.


If i ran the world of travel, there would be one issue that would be more important to me to fix than any other. Children. I would ban them from flights. Unless they have no arms or legs and are physically incapable of making noise. I seem to be a magnet for children who enjoy kicking the seat in front of them and there's not much you can do about it. Unless you're Inspector Gadget, you can't kick their chair back. And you can't hit them because there's no such thing as "grounds for provocation" when it comes to child abuse. And then there's the screaming. Oh the screaming... Honestly, what are people with small children doing travelling anyway? I can't think of anything worse than travelling with kids. My parents took me and my sister to America when we were 7 and 11 respectively, and I'm grateful but seriously. They couldn't go to a Yankees game because I didn't want to. Do you know how much I hate my former self for that? Men in baseball uniforms!

If you haven't fled the plane by this point, it's finally time for takeoff. Which is when things get bearable for a short time. You get food and drink every 3-4 hours. There are a tonne of movies to watch, games to play, music to listen to and if you're well prepared, books to read. You may be lucky enough to get a window seat which not only gives you the view but it grants you the power to control the light in the plane. Oh yeah. You can blind that little screaming brat with the glares of the setting sun. On paper, flying is kind of like a lazy Sunday on the couch. You watch movies, you don't shower, you wear stretchy pants and take of your shoes. Anyone who has not flown internationally, you may think flying is great fun. Maybe it's a novelty- something you've only done a handful of times. You. Are Wrong. In reality, flying is worse than enduring "Friday" by Rebecca Black on loop for 24 hours. You're sitting up. For as long as 13 hours at a time. And often, you get to wander around an airport for 2 or 3 hours only to sit up for another 8. As soon as you find a position that makes sleeping possible (usually some sideways, upright foetal position with your head against the window- no mean feat when you're 5'8") someone near you invariably coughs. Or a baby starts crying. Or the annoying beep signifying the seat belt button turning on sounds. Or a child kicks your chair in one last attempt to drive you insane- they of course are slumbering peacefully.

If I could somehow skip the flying bit, it would make my life a whole lot more awesome. Unfortunately I don't hate flying as much as I love travelling, which means it's an evil necessity of life. It's amazing to arrive at your hotel though- you may be in an entirely different country, surrounded by different smells, sounds, sights. Sometimes, you get a cold drink on arrival, or a refresher towel. Then you get to your room. There isn't much I love more than the first steps into a hotel room. Even hostels are exciting. you get to test the beds, check out what free things they have in the bathrooms (if you get a sewing kit or a razor, you know you've hit the jackpot) see if there are any cushy extras like robes and slippers. If you're in a share room such as in a hostel, you get to meet your new roommates and find out if you managed to score a bottom bunk. (Side note: When you're a kid, you fight over the top bunk. Then you hit teen years and realise that top bunks are inconvenient and at times, unsafe. Suddenly it becomes a battle to secure a bottom bunk- even though you're in trouble if you're sleeping below a fat person, a toss-and-turner or a bed wetter).

Yes, arriving is lovely. Travelling is death.

So, somehow it's 11:32pm and I have to wake up for work in 8 hours which means it's my bed time about an hour ago so that's all for part one. Which is probably a blessing because I haven't my photos uploaded yet and the trip is probably the only bit you can talk about without needing photos! I'll try and get a couple of days worth into the next post, as opposed to 20 hours. I just had a lot of things to complain about in regards to flying- and there's still the flight home. Oh jeez... I'll just say it involved a combination of two things I hate, all in one evil demon child.

Oh and You may have noticed an absence of HAWPs so I'll try and post two this weekend so those of you who have nothing better to do on a weekend other than watch youtube videos on my blog don't miss out.

-m xx

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

The private tour.

My room has always been my domain. When I was younger, I had a much larger bedroom at my dad's house. So large that the family computer was in my room because there was nowhere else that the desk would nicely slot into. Actually the house had originally had an indoor verandah type thing at the front- a small rectanglular room that wasn't open but served no purpose aside from if for some reason anyone felt like sitting there and watching the extremely exciting happenings in our Melrose Park culdesac. (oh yeah sounds super classy but it's a tiny suburb slotted in between West Ryde and Meadowbank. 2114 braaahhh). Anyway at some point my parents knocked down a wall somewhere and the indoor verandah became an extra section of my room. Seriously it was huge. And because of that I used to hang out in my room a lot. My room is no longer big enough to fit much more than a bed and a bookshelf and I'm no longer in the parent-avoiding throes of puberty so I don't spend much time there but I still love to have my style splashed all over the place (save for my dad's current house, which still feels temporary and therefore looks that way).

My bag collection. Mostly thrifted.
Yes, I keep my handbags on my bookshelf.

Alcoholic keepsakes from Eastern Europe and my magazine collection, mostly Grazia.
And no, that's not all of my mags, I have a stack about the same size at my other house.

Some of my perfumes- YSL Parisienne, which I wear every day and 'Essence of Dali' which I picked up at a Salvador Dali exhibit in Montmartre and wear when I feel like sending myself dizzy with nostalgia. To me, it smells like the trees that lined the edges of Rue Coulaincourt.
Featuring the sweet ass of my friend Halcyon Powe, Vivien's Models.

My collection of Marian Keyes books. Well, part of it. I have them all so there's a few floating around in places they shouldn't be. I can't wait for her to bring out another, hopefully sometime this year.

No, I didn't stage this shot. My drawers were like that from when I'd been rifling through them, trying to work out how to both my leather shorts and my new nanna cardigan into one outfit. It didn't work.

Oh yes, I have a fishing tacklebox.

I keep my nailpolish in it. It never fails to illicit amazement from friends. Simply the sheer amount of nailpolish that I posess is incredible.

-m xx

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Stay Too Long

Here it is! the next installment in the story. This is one of my favourite songs on the album. I just really love his faster paced songs. I mean mixing such differing genres- it's genius! And who doesnt love Brit-rap? Even if the lyrics are crap, it's still amazing simply because of the naff accents. Like Dizzy rascal. he may as well be saying "I wake up every day and I'm British, Everything in my life is British, I'm British just to be British, I act real British because I'm British..."

Actually, maybe he should do that?

(and yes I am aware that it's worrying that I have enough knowledge of Dizzy's lyrics to alter them)

I'm on my way to where I'm going thinking I need more Jack
But that probably ain't the brightest idea I've ever had.
-m xx

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Tomorrow is Saturday

and Sunday comes afterwards...

Me, Just Jack and Kate at Teen Spirit

Yes the weekend is fast approaching. I have to apologise for being completely MIA during the week but with the computer situation at my dad's house there's not much I can do unfortunately. I can't even handle viewing photos because of how slow it is, it's driving me men.tal.
Anyway, just some photos today, of various fun times in the spirit of the impending (that makes it sound kind of doom-y, doesnt it?) weekend.
I've got a few things in the making that I'm HOPING (key word) to schedule for while I'm away in Vietnam. If I can get some good connection over there i might post while I'm there, otherwise I'll just have to do a big summary post when I get back.

Bunny in Hyde Park.

Tony's final Plaza Bar theme party: School Uniforms

 (Naturally the boys went in drag. It's to be expected at this point.)

 and then...

People shoulodn't let me serve alcohol. Ever. It usually ends badly.

As you may have noticed from the photos, i wore my hair curly at Tony's. By the time the camera came out however it had deflated considerably. Maybe next time I should infest in something actually design to keep curls in place, as opposed to hairspray, which just weighs them down.

I wish my hair was naturally wavy/curly. Really I do. it is so so so so much easier/quicker to straighten hair than it is to curl it, and it lasts a lot longer. Plus i like my hair wavy.

You know that photo you have of a way you used to look, that you look back on with some sense of regret because you no longer look like that? You may have cut/dyed your hair for example.

Well mine is a photo of me when I'm 12 or so. My hair was down to my ribs, and I'd just been swimming in a river out in Bathurst and it had dried with these gorgeous, surf chic waves. Now I not only wish my hair could be that wavy all of the time, but I'm going through the agonising wait for it to grow.

Why did I ever cut my hair?

And one more thing. I was feeling fab about finally achieving the light auburn colour my hair is now, and then I watched season 4 of Sex and The City. It's the exact. same. colour. As Miranda's!

-m xx

Sunday, April 10, 2011

The Defamation of Strickland Banks.

The mystery is solved!
As I mentioned, Sundays will be dedicated to a series of videos for a little while.
The unfolding story of "The Defamation of Strickland Banks"; Plan B's latest, groundbreaking concept album. I'm not going to give away any plot points of the album, you'll just have to watch the vids. And learn to love his AH-mazing musical hybrid of big band and hip hop. It's just genius.

The next chapter of the story is coming next Sunday, but I recommend you go out and buy the album RIGHT NOW.

-m xx

Saturday, April 09, 2011

Happy Weekend!

So here it is, my first ever Half-Assed Weekend Post, as inspired by Simple Dude.
Now as I alluded to in my last post, this weekend will have not one but TWO Half-Assed posts so get excited for a plethora of youtube sourced awesomeness.

Today is a good day for something funny.

See you tomorrow!
-m xx

Thursday, April 07, 2011

Mah Hurr

I dyed it. I even added highlights (!).
It looks like this:

Now, I bet you're wondering how I did these highlights. And no, smartypants, I didn't buy one of those 2 in 1 hair dyes with a funky highlighting comb. I did it alllll myself. And because I am generous with sharing the secret to my now-amazing hair, I shall tell you.

First, you will need to gather your materials.
You will need:
  • powder bleach
  • hydrogen peroxide developer (I used 20vol. You're less likely to end up with white hair than you would with 30 or 40)
  • gloves. These are incredibly important!
  • a plastic bowl for the mixin's
  • an old mascara brush.
Ok, so now for your method. PUT ON YOUR GLOVES. this is the most important part because you don't want blisters on your hands, k?

Then, mix a small amount of bleach and developer in your bowl as per the instructions on your product. Now I would err on the thin side with the bleach, as you don't want too intense a result.
Using the mascara brush, apply the bleach to small, sporadic sections of hair, both on the top and underlying layers. 

If you're anything like me, your next step will be to get sick of the mascara brush and the gloops that keep falling off it and on to your (now spotty) bath mat, and opt for a more "hands on" approach. In the end, I just grabbed some bleach mix, rubbed it through my (gloved) fingers and then dragged them all through my hair.

IMPORTANT: Since you'll be going root to tip, the bleach will often be used up before it reaches the ends of your hair so make sure you check the tip and rub some through a few areas.

I left the bleach for about 10min but you could easily go longer for less subtle results. What I ended up with is varying tones of dark and light auburn, and I'm pretty happy with the results. This is just further proof that I should have dropped out of school and studied hair dressing. 

Moving on to something other than my hair: my boyfriend!
So ABC aired the interview, and it is available for your viewing pleasure here.
The video is below the photo on the right of the page, or of course you can read the article but then you wouldn't see my boy embarrass himself somewhat.

Let's play "Count how many times James Wall can say "obvious" in one response"!

Now you may have noticed my promised Half-Assed Weekend Post never actually surfaced adn really I had no time last weekend. And when I did have some time, I was at my Dad's where the computer simply refuses to post on blogger. Go figure. But it will be up this weekend, I promise! In fact, I may even post two!

I don't want to give too much away but Sunday's will be dedicated to a bit of a video series for the next few weeks. Featuring a certain brittish music artist perhaps? Suspense!

Also, if you haven't yet, go check out my photos from Saturday night on mbp. Seriously. Go look. But I can't be held responsible if you never find anything visually exciting ever again.

And now, in the spirit of Friday, I give you the musical genius of Rebecca Black. Simply because I'm sure there are about 3 people in the world who haven't seen it yet.

Yupp, it sure is Friday.
-m xx

Friday, April 01, 2011

Scratch that

Note: OK so i wrote this on Wednesday and forgot that I can't post on my dad's computer. i have no idea why. Nothing happnes when I press the publish button, and it's incredibly annoying. Anyway here it is.

Update: So when i posted i forgot that blogger's American date and time means that 1/4 is actually the 4th of January, so this post got lost in the recesses of the past for a little while. Anyway, half assed weekend post due up later today.

I lied. I'm sorry for anyone who sat with bated breath in front of a TV tuned to ABC at noon today. I really am. I've let you down. Well, Andy got some information mix up. They played a brief clip whilst introducing a different story in which Andy was playing with some children. But no interview. Apparently if and when they air it, we will find out. Well I sure am embarrassed. Especially for making my dad tape it on the IQ for nothing...

I've got an exciting weekend ahead (SPOILER ALERT: a visit to the Sandringham hotel, some quality time with my ladies, alcohol and some 90s tunage, a family lunch and whatever other shenanigans I get into) I've realised that I post more often on weekends than weekdays which is of course, a silly idea because blogs get a lot more views midweek. So from now on, anything interesting that I feel like posting on the weekend, will be drafted for midweek time slots (ooh TV jargon, yeah) and I'll be subscribing to the "Half-assed weekend post" method, as inspired by Simple Dude. So expect to see a lot less words on weekends and a lot more youtube videos. Oh, I've got plans, don't you worry. I'm kind of excited for my first weekend vid posts.

And with that, I leave you with a picture of Dan Gold. Graffiti-style tattoo artist of London Ink fame. Because, well, I find him strangely sexy and I think the world needs to see him.

And this amazing tattoo that he did. It's a robot with a camera for a head, crushing a guy playing drums. Yeah, badass.

Catch you on the flip side

-m xx