hairless; selfless

I dont know why we make such a fuss about our hair. But we do.
The generalisations and stereotypes are unavoidable. Blondes are stupid. Blondes have more fun. Red heads are bogans, if you want curly hair you must eat your crusts. I could go on, but I tend to disagree with all of these. Especially about blondes having more fun.

The way to my heart is through my hair. Start playing with my hair and you start playing with my heart strings. A few simple strokes and I drift off to a charming place where voices are soft and the music is all keyboard while chocolate flows freely on tap, and within minutes I will be eating out of your hand. Providing its chocolate and you keep playing with my hair of course.

Now back to reality. I want to give a massive round of cyber applause to a wee girl I used to go to high school with. We no longer sit in the same circle at lunch time and I can no longer copy off her in French. But that matters not. Kirsten is her name, or 'Kiki' as I like to call her. Pretty, bubbly and often as ditzy and oblivious as the Blonde stereotype that shadowed her. She had a great head of hair. Had, being the key word here.

Im so thrilled to say that Kiki ( featured to the left right alongside one of my other favourite school characters Lewy) participated in the Worlds Greatest Shave this week. Never in my wildest dreams would I pick the spoilt princess of our year 8 group to partake in such a real and physical transformation with nothing but thoughts for others in mind. It warms me to the core.

It isnt too late to sponsor Kirsten or donate:
By clicking here


She no longer has the perfect blonde locks I once envived.
Heck she no longer has any hair to envy.
But never have I admired her so much as I do right now.
Imagine if we all took away some unessential features what real inner beauty would have the room and potential to shine
 :)

Glare

Summer days, drifting away.

This time of year does the sunlight wonders.

In the morning, the dominating rise over clear crisp sky allures me out of bed. And in the evening it puts on a glorious show turning the sky radiant colours of red, orange, baby blue and pink. I just want to stare at it for hours. And seen as it's finally let go of that summer intensity, I can.

It fees like every man and his dog are taking photos on iphone and uploading through Instagram these days. And why wouldn't we. It's fast, fun, friendly and doesnt take a Bachelor of Science to figure out how to use. And with so many different filters, in an instant one can place a photo back in time, or so it appears. For someone like me who secretly wishes they were a child of the 1900's this is fantastic news. No time machine required. Want to go back in time? well theres an app for that. Want to learn French, theres an app for that. Next there will be an app that will cook and wash up for you. Well heres hoping. 

In December I was torn between purchasing an SLR or a top of the range point and shoot camera. When I was almost sold on the big, bulky, lens interchangeable type; I took a step back and thought about how much more use I would get out of simple yet good quality camera I can constantly have on me. Especially coming close to travel time where I will barely have room for a pair of shorts in my backpack, let alone a camera and its entourage of lenses. The Canon G12 caught my (fish) eye and I havent looked back. I even forked out the $750 to get set up by myself prefering to not let Santa chip in. Aside from spending $2000 on a trip to Bali, my first holiday in 3 years, I have never spent so many pennies on my self in one go. I felt naughty, independent and empowered all at once. I think people forget to gift themselves sometimes. Im not one of these gals who go out week by week updating wardrobe. Because at risk of being called a freak of nature; I truly dislike shopping. My body reacts to more than an hour of shopping and before I know it Im struck with a lightning headache, clear punishment for engaging in the dismal act. Instead I would say most my moolah goes toward food, beer or to the salvos when once in a green moon I stumble across something worthy of treasuring.

My Euro trip will be my biggest splurge yet.

6 months on the road, with no solid plans and no official place to call home.

Safe to say i'll be spending more than a new car on this trip.

May need to start counting out dollars, not pennies.

Laugh out loud

They say laughter is the best medicine. Well aside from valium.
So to all my probably 4 readers out there;
Treat your self to YouTube and check out this video featuring two incredibly talented and frequently hilarious boys im lucky enough to occassionally clink glasses with. They tend to look on the lighter side of life and their whacky and unique antics have taught me to remember...that hey, life is suppose to be fun after all. Dont take things to seriously :) enjoy!

For more shits and giggles check out Toms blog by CLICKING HERE!

Daze

The sky is full of this grey and lifeless haze today. I thoroughly enjoy wondering (yes I intend wonder not wander) about with my head in the clouds...but not when the clouds are in my head.  Right about now I am bound to my chicken noodle soup, a few good books and a voicemail message from my brain apologising for the lack of function as it is currently swimming in what I would assume is too much thunder clouds. Head cold; I'm sorry but this just isn't working out for us. It's not you, it's me....no seriously. you can do soooo much better than me. My body is running on unleaded + E10 not premium. Not to be fooled by this deliriously cheaper option, E10 is no good for your beloved car. It's a bit like going to a cafe, ordering a massive greasy bacon burger with cheesy covered fries and then a diet coke to save the guilt (the guilt being environmental impact when I speak of actual petrol not the body fuel kind). Perhaps I have been sniffing too much petrol I'm starting to write irrationally.

Reminder of the day:

- or at least not until your head is clear enough to do so

Bleak

I can never quite fathom why I consistently throw my eager self into the dark, deep black hole that is the Central Coast Social Scene. It could be the hidden desire to prove that I can belong and be square with what is considered the 'norm' around here. But mostly I assume its because the select bunch of kids I class as cool do, and I dream that one day we can and will out number the common fools. And I am always courted by the potential horseplay and good times to be had on the noble dance floor. To put it simple; the prospect of whipping my hair back and forth is far to jolly to pass up.

 Generally speaking, going out on the coast is the same movie played times over, until finally the film burns out leaving a distorted concoction of visuals and dialogue to capture the dull and too often reality show material storyline. However, the conversation need not be heard anyway because it is so staged and pretense it merely consumes valuable breath and words, that could be put to far better use....say on my personal blog/ thought chamber. Eventually the scenes get old, and people move on to search for something more fulfilling, like Paris.

Now no one holds a gun to my head come Friday, Saturday, Sunday and even the odd Wednesday. The choice to take part is mine, and I take pride in the hardly any time I spend waste primping and prettifying as it justifys to myself how little I care about what this elusive scene thinks of me. If the standard consensus is wearing tight short dresses with heels, i'll chuck on the first pair of shorts that come to hand and a t-shirt that looks well worn with army boots and a haun super dry to kick ass in. The drive to be different comes from the moments of sickness I feel when being surrounded by the wrong kind of people doing the wrong kind of thing.

"the world is a stage, but the play is badly cast",- Oscar Wilde

The finale act of a typical Saturday night in Terrigal lately screams violence.
In an instant two separate unfamiliar souls feel the need to physcially harm each other, over what I can only imagine is absolutely nothing. I steer clear of the negativity, preferring the cool comfort of the dance floor and my good, clean, fun peoples. However recently this turned sour when the fight started on none other than the jolly, high traffic dance floor, sending innocent dance enthusiasts like me flying and scrambling all over the shop. It seems like a single punch , wether accidental or intentional caused an animal like frenzy in which anyone and everyone wanted a piece of. I had to evacuate, because after half the club was booted (well half the club did participate so fair call) I could not stop looking at the remaining occupants as though they were animals. Pigs, wolves, bulldogs, bears, tigers, deers. The whole lot of them were potentially as wild as animals.

And when I finally did leave, I'm struck with the continuation of what broke out upstairs, only worse.  And this time police forced to physically beat the animals with batons to stop the wild violent frenzy. A pack of wolves could of been better behaved. In that moment I felt so ashamed and embarrassed that this was indeed my own kind acting in such a savage and In humane way. As the wounded calf lies on the ground in a neck brace, having potentially done some serious long term damage, The rest of the herd is being rounded up like brainless sheep and thrown into the 5 surrounding paddy wagons.

Bleak. I don't think any amount of words can communicate what that looks like to innocent by standers. I like animals for the reason they possess so many human like qualities. And I can appreciate the animal characteristics that humans show. The light hearted play, the hunt for food, the survival of the fittest, the beauty of companionship, and the shared general goal of living. But this animal behaviour has gone way to far in terms of comparison.


It seems that after thousands of years of civilisation, we have not forgotten where we evolved from. Tis a shame.

Humans, animals ; not so different after all.

Run

My nose is running.
I have no idea where Its headed or how many km/hr it will aim for,
but nethertheless its going. Head colds serve no purpose. Not powerful enough for people to notice a significant difference in your vital signs, ie getting you sent home from work. But still, head colds like to play with the a few of the wires in your mind that are required for regular function. I would have to say the most common affect is the head-that-feels-like-a-bowling-ball.

Now im told to quit the whinging because I am to blame for catching a cold because I have adopted a nasty habit of sleeping with my bedroom window wide open and my blinds up. I can't comprehend sleeping in a fully dark room these days, it really is quite refreshing moon and star gazing while you lay in bed.

So this is what I have been trying to tell my parents for years now.
YOU CATCH A COLD VIA THE VIRUS NOT FROM THE COLD ITSELF.
The age old myth that colds come from the weather are just that; myth. The  reason we catch colds more frequent in the colder months is because the air is dryer and we spend more time cooped up indoors with other virus carrying humans and our fine friends, heater which also helps to spread by circulating the air. In summer we wanted space. And as it cools off we look for comfort in the warmth of others. ohhh bless. Case closed. Now dont mind me im just off to find the nasty cold spreader

fight or flight

I have to admit I am an avid bird watcher. As much as I whine about my parents obsession with Finches, I've come to find comfort in the family of ornaments sitting on the mantle piece...and almost bear the live ones Im forced to take care of while they have weekends away at, you guessed it; bird shows.

The security a bird must feel. Knowing at any moment when the going gets tough, a few flaps of the old wings and your off into the clouds. No traffic, No waiting for public transport, just pure freedom. So astounding that humans spend lifetimes trying to invent and perfect such flying machines, and far too often watching them crashing down causing catastrophe. And here these birds are doing what theve always done. I suppose freedom comes with their nature. Alongside cheekyness.

My favourite types of birds are the sprightly 'Superb Fairy Wrens'. The name gives away most of their traits. They lightly hop about with a burst of energy I could only dream of. Tails always upwright and although curious little creatures, they won't sit still for long enough to get a real look at. Call them shy or cheeky, im yet to decide. If I was to compare myself to a common bird, this one would be it. Unlike the photos you see here, Im yet able to catch any of the boisterous Wren. Probably due to my lack of patience. Like the T-rex I find if you stay completely still for long enough, you'll casually become invisible to its movement focused eye, and you wont get eaten.

My second bird of choice would be the Satin Bowerbird.

With striking blue eyes even more so than a young Timothy Maher, this bird is so well documented for the bower it builds during mating season to attract females.  The bower consists of the usual nesting sticks, but a quirky collection of blue (stolen) items does compliment its display.  I first stumbled across this little beauty when I notcied a lack of blue clothes pegs in the basket. When we finally found the culprit, we didnt have the heart to take the items back because his collection of blue string, bottle tops and pegs was just too dam cute (or determined). Its with hope that the female bower bird sees all the pretty blue obtained items and decides to mate with him over the man bird next door who hasn't even gotten around to building an impressive nest yet because he's too busy stuffing his face with worms. It sounds very much like a standard saturday night at the beery, except in our case drunk males seek out potential females and instead of stealing blue items to whoa her, pulls out a banana ($50 note) and offers to get her even more so drunk so he can mate - only momentarily with her, and of course with no reproductive outcomes (we hope). ahhh nature. Why be you so interesting.

When I think of my own personal style (or lack there of) I consider myself some sort of a bird. Always flocking towards items that are bright, odd, textured and of course shiny.

Come to think of it, if someone made a nest with a collection of thoughtful blue items from here and there...I would probably think it was a bit cute. Sounds like the bower bird knows what hes doing after all.

something for Kate

Its this little pocket rockets birthday today.
As witty as she is mischef, when we arn't cruising around listening to our official theme song, you'll find us plotting our escape quietly in the corner.
A tad bit shy when it comes to showing face, shes a hard one to catch.
Still, brighter than the sparkler shes holding Xx

fist pump

I hesitate when it comes to dedicating a post to a music festival. The generalisations of music festival goers and the fear that I am thrown in with the lot of teeth grinding, fist pumping, drug popping, singlet and boob popping bikinis, tan show-offering dweebs scares me. However over the years I have managed to stay clear of the fascade and continued to get loose in a totally clean and happy go lucky fashion, with groupies to prove it.

Future is now officially in the past. I may not be coming down from drug intake, but am surely coming down from the best festival I have ever attended.




suppose to be home base, pretty sure it got knocked over in a mosh

 

I drunk, lost, stole, shoulder hopped, cried, rejoyced, forgot about food, roller skated, reconnected with my youth, reconnected with the handful of friends I could keep a tab on and danced till my limbs said no more ; and all in the space of 10 short but ridiculously sweet hours.

This is the first festival that from the word go I had double booked myself every hour of the day. The fanatical lineup of djs, bands and too jolly side activities presented a challenge and pushed the boundaries of choice to the core. Throwing in the amount of people from all walks of life I was planning to rub or hop shoulders with for at least a few minutes and it becomes obvious that not even Hermione with her time turner watch from the Prisoner of Azkaban could of seen it all and lived to tell the tale.

The day started like any other, and it wasn't until I accidently stole a slushy from 7/11 that I realised what drunken potential lay before me and how utter maddness it would be to dance the new found energy off. As though being drunk before entry wasn't enough, I thought it would be even better to take my $600 camera boyfriend along for the ride and try and get as much dust, foam, sweat and water on it as possible. So many people. All lined up in their festival uniform. (shorts, shirt, shoes that like to dance) All smuggelling something in. secrets, pills, sexual intentions, vodka, STDS.

Like 100% of attendees, we had our hearts set on Ke$ha. Standing 50 metres back and still being able to feel the 20 people squished up touching my body I got the dizzees and had to step back. As babe as Ke$ha was theres no point almost touching guys balls trying to get a glimpse of it. However she definetly was encouraging it. After stepping back where the air was frequent, In a last attempt to get a look at her I decided to wander 5 metres forward by myself and force some poor fella to let me monkey on his shoulders for a few songs. So much fun, it wasn't until I hopped down and thanked the poor soldier for his efforts (this bloggie does weigh almost 60 kgs, try pumping that in weights at the gym) that I saw my first mistake of the day, leaving my wingman. In a desperate attempt to see Ke$has underwear I had lost the one thing that mattered the most; My wingman. I cannot stress enough to importance of a wingman...and holding hands. Without someone to enjoy it with it wouldnt matter if I was watching Mark Ronson or sitting in the gravel with not even the bottle of vodka to keep me company. Bottom line is, its not fun without the homeboys, groupies, best pals, amigos. Whatever you like to call them, they matter more than music. They most often are the music.

To loose something at a festival is a tragedy. Im told to not search, desire or think about the possession for the rest of the day because it will downright consume you and you'll be left feeling lonley and as disapointed as when MGMT played their new shit. Im sorry guys. I love the whimsical film clips and quirky nature of your voices...but to sing me lullabys at a festival and occupy so much of my precious time without even playing the only song we came to hear...well thats another story.  This pic below pretty much sums up Petes facial for the whole MGMT. Dont be fooled by the sunnies, not a happy chappy.

With all the 2 and a half year solid festivality experience under my belt I knew that I could very well be rolling around looking for a needle in a haystack for hours. This one time at Good Vibes I spent 4 hours by myself. not kidding. I cant grasp the irony. People travel to the other side of the land of Aus and casually bump into someone they went to primary school with out of the 20 something million people that inhabit the best country in the world - or so im told it is. Yet here I am running around in circles, pulling my hair out because the few kilometres of caged in grass is too hard to spot a familiar face in. When the half an hour of lone maddness almost seeing me giving up and going to the foam party to contract some pink eye by myself, I beat all odds and stumbled right across my partner in crime. I think at this point I had tears in my eyes and Kate was much the same having being doing the same. From there onwards I didnt let her or anyone else I congrugated on the journey out of my sights. Adding to the fun were these two. Of all the groupies to stumble across these 2 were the icing on our cake and we danced off into the night...in a yellow submarine...a yellow submarine. Here you can see Pete and Emilys first ever silent disco.

I wont list the acts I saw and the acts I didn't. At the end of it the show seem to blur together and Im left recalling the whimsical times had with the people I was with. Rollerskating into the sunset, getting covered in dirt. And funnily enough, after all the waiting the hear MGMT play kids, after minutes of bouncing silent disco a killer remix came on and all of a sudden it didnt matter if it was live in front of us or not

At days end we were nothing but a flock of bambinos, kicking our boots up,  covered in dirt and ultra  Good times. This ones going to be a hard one to beat kids

Peace out

Peace . The most globally recognised symbol aside from the infamous middle finger. I know which I prefer

so shall

Social media is a must for today's earth dwellers.
Even household pets feel the gravitational pull of social media outlets.
Facebook, twitter, youtube, myspace, and oasis active if your looking for more than cyber friendships . Myspace is practically dead to those who later discovered facebook but still needs credit/ mention as it made a massive contribution to my generation who first made the social networking moves from msn and instant chat to myspace.

I remember the first day I got a myspace. I was about 14, yay high and like all teenagers looking for an excuse to not complete homework. I was peer pressured as are most things kids try these days and didn't understand why I required such a communication tool when msn was instant, fun and I had the power to block the unworthy conversation contributors with a click of my mousey mouse. Of course a month in I was obsessed with comparing pages, photos and number of friends; a cult was born and I was jumping up and down trying to get a glimpse of its chubby cheeks.

What seemed to be another pop trend similar to yohodiablos and pokemon continued to evolve and find relevance and proudly defines itself as a permanent resident of the now and future. Some would say social networking achieved world domination, with founders such as 'Tom' laughing all the way to the bank.

The introduction of the iphone was a bitter sweet move and fueled the growth of social networking beyond expectations. So simple to access any kind of stimuli the mind desires its hard to imagine a life without the new centre of the solar system. Thats right. More people have iphones than boyfriends. Me included.

I first noticed that I may have a slight addiction to social media when It hit me that the first thing I did in the morning after turning my alarm off was checking the essentials; words with friends, instagram and facebook to see if anything new or relevant has happened in my or anyones life since the last time I clicked to check; the moment before I closed my eyes and demanded sleep. Surely if Betty just got a hair cut it was vital that I know to continue functioning. Right?...right?? I try to justify when the constant ding alerts in the middle of the night informing me that someone liked one of my instagram photos that it is worth the interupted sleep because without the approval of such people I wouldn't really be happy. After all...we all need to be loved right?Then on my way to work I noticed that after sitting in traffic for more than 5 seconds straight, I utilised the time by finding stimuli in one of these forms. As though my mind being still and out of touch of the world for a minute would kill me just as much as a fatal accident could for follishly practising internet whilst behind the wheel. Ironic.

Such media outlets claim to 'bring people together'. I regard this highly. Social sites do bring people together who normally wouldn't have a bar of each other. But its debatable the impact social media has on society, and the pros and cons are neck in neck. People build their whole empire around the cyber world. What was once started by a bunch of guys wanting to stay connected with friends has turned into one big ball of marketing, groupies and an overload in personal information we usually wouldnt consider relevant yet alone waste 10 seconds reading. I would even go as far as saying if its not on the internet its not there at all. News breaks before the major stations even have time to pile the camera crew into the van. Hearts break as young lovers struggle to respect each others privacy in difficult times, made only worse by the publicty of it all. With a click of a button not only have you been dumped, but the whole world gets the see it as the 'no longer in a relationship' alert informs all, usually encouraging comments. Businesses make a mark on you by becoming your friend and marketing the crap out of themselves till you finally 'like' what they have to offer. An information overload. And with so much of the positive foating around, of course enters the negative. Isolation and depression act in clear contradiction to popularity and universal attention.

I can usually count my true friends on my fingers and awkwardly long toes. I like it that way. And I sort of feel that is the way the universe intends. Less is more. And safety in numbers often feels comfotable, but for the most part I end up feeling more alone than ever. The book of the face tells a story. A story of mainly unessential tit bits thrown into the sky often landing and crushing the true beauty that lies within this crazy but beautiful place. I think somewhere along the social media train ride we got comfortable and forgot to get off at the right stop. All headed in the same direction; feckless.

So here I sit at the first stage of having a problem, admitting you have one in the first place. I have to remember that while browsing through funny status updates and being a social butterfly of the cyber world, Im blinded by the Real, Often dull, but bona fide day to day functions of life. So im stuck in traffic, so I havent got anyone to talk to on the train, so im going for a walk by myself. So be it. Solitary is the beign of our existance and it isn't something worth distracting oneself from. Spending time away from such stimuli and clutter you'll find you miss...absolutely nothing of real relevance.

In other news I got a haircut. I didn't check in at the hair dresses or even express status my concern about loosing the few inches off my long mane that im so dearly attached too. Guess it wasn't quite important enough to tell the world after all. This day dreamer is from here on in going to let social media outlets often sit on the top shelf gathering dust, prefering to take on more stimulating form of enjoyment, books, television, photography, real face time with people and reading more blogs by other self confessed dreamers :)

choosey choosey

Choice. Its everywhere. Not a day goes by where we don't need to make a choice or decision in order to continue moving forward (or keep sane). We choose which alarms we hold enough authority to snooze in the morning and which one is the big gun forcing us into the dark realm that is the day to day rat race. We dwell over what we would like for breakfast taking into consideration mood, time constraints and taste preference. You look at the thousand clothing options in the wardrobe frantically trying to find something that doesnt look like the outfit of choice you wore to work 2 days ago. And thats all before 8am! Ahh decisions, decisions.

Decisions are detrimental to survival. Without such options, humans would not evolve personally, phycially and emotionally. If you dont move with the times, everyone else will and you could be left alone with none other than your * high coloured tube socks, Taffeta dress ,frizzy mullet hair do and collection of Wham, B-52s and Cindy Laupers greatest hits to get you through the weekend. - bless those gals from the 80's they really did have the most fun!

I dont enjoy making decisions, especially in a shotgun. Im one of those people who metaphorically writes a list weighing up pros and cons, and over thinks it until my instinct punches my hesitant self in the nose and im forced to decide. On top of that my mind seems to change as much as the weather - and as of late the weather has been giving us some doozeys. So much so do I change my line of thought that I had to force myself to buy my plane ticket for Euro trip, before the parrot perched on my shoulder got hold of my left ear and bird talked me out of it.
''Polly want a cracker", I would say
and it would respond "No polly dont want a cracker polly wants you to think hard and question any and every thing until your head explodes."

I partially blame society for this. So much choice is thrown into our basket these days it weighs me down. I cant stand in the juice isle for too long because the 20 brands of juice on offer make me anxious - and thats just for the orange type. I often find myself staring aimlessly at a shelf, eyes blury and head tilted to the side wishing that a box would just fall off into my basket so I dont need to read the labels and put thought into the one I choo chooo chooooose.

It's one of the things I miss about the 1900's. Choice was at an all time low. You went to the only supermarket within a half an hour drive, which was only open for certain hours. Purchsed a litre of milk. No type. No worry. Just milk. Then You paid for it with cash from the same pocket that you first deposited it into after your boss paid it into your hand, not one of the 3 types of credit cards its essential to have today, and you went home to cook dinner. Forgot to buy half the ingredients? too freakin bad supermarkets shut. Make do with whats in the pantry or go hungry. No late night food options. No 24 hour Mc donalds to save the hungry day. Just simple choice, but in moderation.

I like having freedom of choice.
I like to know that I like something and therefore I choose it.
But when theres so much choice around I feel like hiring a personal assistant to sift through it all it makes me question, do we really need so much choice? is it really that bad to not want to make choices constantly. Are we mere hoarders?
the afterthought often leads me to regret. Which is where im currently stuck.
For example;  after days of stressing and organising a working visa, I wake up one idle morning with the thought crossing my mind that I dont want a working visa anymore. This is great and all. Saves me the $250 in application fees to start with. But knowing me this will be the hot choice of the week. And next month i'll change my mind and realise its too late to apply for a visa. And then be left sulking when I cant legally work in London. Unlike the change in nail polish preference ; which I can embrace, making a wrong decision about something that affects months of my life is making me dizzy. After all, the nail polish comes off with acetone, the choice to not get a visa when all my friends are, could be a big whoopsie.

One of the greatest traits I have learned is to follow intuition. Because 98% of the time it's right. And in a world thats buzzing with opportunities and options, intuition may be your only vice in getting you through it.

Stay tuned for future ponderings.

* in no way was the writers intentions to portray a lame image of folk from the 80's by using that as key example of someone stuck in a different era. I admire the 80's queens for sticking with what they love and when im done pondering I may just come and join you. Righteoussss.