Disturbia.

The part of town I have to walk through to get to work can get pretty seedy, so I always make sure I wear my big black pair of eff off Dior sunnies and dress pretty conservatively, so as to not encourage any form of interaction.

This morning I was lost in thought when the beep of a truck’s horn snapped me back to reality; I looked up at the truck that had beeped, and there was the driver, pointing at me, and then he pulled down his high-visability polo in a lewd manner, exposing his pec to me whilst licking his lips.

Congratulations bogan – you are so obese that the man boob you exposed to me is actually bigger than my own. I realise the point of your actions was to signal to me to flash you, but pray tell, why I would need to when the set on you could rival Pammy Anderson. Why don’t you just admire yourself in the mirror instead of sexually harassing poor innocents such as myself?

 I feel disturbed and disgusted, like I need to go to a shrink for support. The truck driver on the other hand, is in desperate need of support from Triumph.

Okay, I’m going to go vom now…

Sign Dyslexia - it's real dude!

Are you one of the 99.99% of dumbass shoppers who can't read sale signs?

For everyone who works in retail, I'm going to do a little public service announcement on your behalf. People... read sale signs before opening your mouth or your wallet! 

Today a sign with the following writing was displayed in my store:

'$50 off when you spend over $200 on full priced sunglasses.'


I thought it was a pretty simple concept to grasp, but apparently not.

Here is a taste of the idiocy I endured:

- "These sunglasses are $49.95, so does that mean I get them for free?"
- "They're originally $500, so they come down to $250?"
- "You only discounted them by $50, the sign says 50%."

And these people aren't school kids, still learning their times tables. They're grown ass adults of whom Education Queensland has apparently deemed fit to graduate school and go on to hold down jobs in the real world.

I pity the misguided businesses who have employed these fools who can't distinguish a percentage sign from a dollar sign or know that 49.95 is less that 200. Worse yet, some of these idiots have procreated, and bring their equally unknowledgeable offspring into the store to torture me on a daily basis.

As you may have sensed... I get just a little bit annoyed at having to explain simple one sentence signs to people who should be perfectly capable at reading. And it's not just one or two people, it's the majority of customers.

Thus, I have concluded that sign dyslexia is real, and it is rife amongst the Australian population. After careful consideration, I deduced that a swift fly kick to the mouth any time a sign was mis-read would be an effective way to curb the spread of this disorder. Or perhaps a sign stating a 50% surcharge for vocalised idiocy would get people reading signs a little more carefully?

I'd be happy to trial both :-)

Delicious Stationary

The other day I went for a little expedition to the mall with a dear friend of mine. As we were waiting for her Mac to get fixed, we wandered into Borders. I was in search of John Green’s first novel ‘Looking for Alaska’, however could only find ‘Paper Towns’ - disappointment.


In the search we stumbled upon some of the cutest stationary you could imagine; thank you cards with vintage polaroids of Paris on the back paired with tiny matching envelopes, notebooks masquerading as well-seasoned passports that had been on many an adventure, diaries thick with fresh paper and black and white pictures of New York and London on the cover.

Ugh! I wanted to buy it all. The journal was just begging for me to write juicy secrets on its clean white pages; I had visions of myself sitting in some cosy cafe, wearing a beret, sipping coffee and writing profound thoughts and musings with a fountain pen. I really needed those thank you cards to send to the hosts of those amazing dinner parties I frequent; I would comment (in perfect cursive by quill of course) on the cucumber sandwiches and peach pie, and the host’s lovely frock. The passport notebooks were an absolute necessity of course; where else was I going to document my journey of self-discovery in far away lands? Hmm?

Me writing a postcard to my Grandparents whilst in Paris - a rare moment of stationary usage.

In reality, I have about five journals sitting on my desk at home, with only the first ten pages used in each. I will say that those pages do make for exceptionally entertaining reading. Not because I was a talented writer, but because what I was writing about was incredibly lame; “Dear Diary, If I had to choose my favourite member of 5ive, it would be J because he’s a really good rapper”, “Dear Diary, the Blue Light disco is tonight and I bought the coolest top from Just Jeans to wear to it!’ Dear Diary, why won’t Mum let me go to the Year 10 Graduation party? She’s ruining my life!”, “Dear Diary, who’s a rebel? I’m a rebel - I drank my first Cruiser tonight!!!”.


Moving on...



Of course I don’t frequent amazing dinner parties which would require me to send a thank you card the following day. Replace cucumber sandwiches, peach pie and frocks with pizza, Baskin Robbins, uggs and the Mighty Boosh box set.

Booshing it with the girls.

And as for jotting my overseas travel experiences in my absolutely necessary Passport notebooks, the fact that I still haven’t put the photos from my Grade 10 school trip to Japan in an album is a good indicator that there is a slim to nil chance that I would be motivated enough to document my future journeys by hand.

Once it dawned on me that I would probably never use this incredibly cute stationary, it made me a bit sad. There really is nothing better than opening the mailbox and finding a letter waiting there with your name on it - not a bill, not your local politician telling you to vote for him and not the latest Harvey Norman catalogue - but an actual personalised letter written just for you. Someone took the time out of their day to think of you, sit down and write you a letter. (Bonus points if it’s written on pretty stationary or is from overseas.)


Gone are the days of a handwritten party invitation - Facebook has successfully driven them to extinction. I’ve even heard of people sending out their wedding invites by Facebook, eww.


I also really wish I did have the motivation to write in a journal regularly; whilst my past journal entries are very embarrassing and make me cringe, I’m glad I have at least a little reminder of that stage of my life. I often can’t remember what I did last week, let alone ten years ago.


Maybe my (very late) New Years resolution should be to incorporate more stationary into my life. It sounds weird, but it might be a good move. Maybe writing in a journal would slow me down a bit, allow me to reflect more, and give me a reason to stop watching Glee re-runs. And if I wrote a letter to someone, I’m sure it would brighten their day somewhat (I would ensure use of awesome stationary and bad ass calligraphy skills).


Ok it’s decided. I am going to embrace pen and paper (that's parchment and quill if you're Harry Potter) and the written word. This is my resolution. If you would like to contact me this year please do so by letter only; alternatively you can find me at your local cosy cafe (just look for my beret).

They're not shorts if you can see bum cheek.

When purchasing denim shorts, please keep this simple rule in mind. I have had my eyes assaulted numerous times this summer by bum cheeks hanging out the bottom of "denim shorts". I don't care how great you think your bum is, or if you are wearing them to a festival; once I can see arse, they're officially classified as underwear. The fact that they are made out of denim, is irrelevant - they're NOT shorts. 

My worst experience was walking behind a girl in a shopping centre, her "shorts" were smaller than your Bonds boylegs, and there was major cheekage on display.... I thought things couldn't get any worse, until she dropped her wallet. She attempted to squat and pick it up. Alas! Her "shorts" were too tight for such a maneuver! I could see her hesitate. Then she bent over to retrieve her wallet... 

               ugh.

It was not a sight I needed nor wanted to see. Scarred for freakin' life.

No.

Yes.

Lindsay Lohan is a complete mess and even she manages to get it right....

Death to Smokey Eye

So, it's Friday night and you're getting with ready with The Girls for a night of dancing, drinking and general debauchary. You've got that special dress on, killer heels, hair freshly washed and straightened, make-up bag in one hand, glass of white in the other and you're heading to the bathroom to fight for prime real-estate in front of the mirror. After securing your spot, you dig out your trusty black eyeliner and begin your usual going-out 'Smokey Eye' routine...

At this point I'd like you to STOP and THINK. Put that MAC Smoulder down before you hurt yourself, honey.

Smokey eye is done, dead, over, kaput. It should have faded into the fashion shadows with slogan t-shirts and velvet chokers; however it continues to rear its' ugly head at night clubs and school formals across the country.

Sipping our Cham-Chams (Champagne with a dash of Chambourd) The Girls and I groan as yet another panda-eyed girl struts past. *Note to self: must bond with her in the toilet line and pass on vital info about the death of the Smokey Eye.*

Yawn...

I know you're thinking I'm over-reacting, but hear me out. I promise this little Cherry has some valid reasons for banning such a beloved look...

1. Massive potential for it to look like your eyes met Mike Tyson's fist.

If I had a dollar for every time I read a beauty 'how-to' on Smokey Eyes saying how easy it is to achieve and 'the messier the better'. Wrong. Simply wrong. Unless you're Kate Moss and ooze an undeniable aura of bad-ass and rocker-chic, this advice does not apply to you. You will end up looking like you've gone 10 rounds with a pro-boxer...and lost. All that hard work you spent on getting ready, and then you ruin it with the bruised eye look? Disappointing.

2. Guys don't like it.

While a guys' approval is not what life and fashion is all about - chances are you didn't wear that ridiculously short dress in the middle of winter or spend those extra 10 minutes making sure your hair was sitting just right, to impress your bestie who knew you before you discovered Pro-active. The majority of guys don't like the smokey eye look and this is a proven fact. Well not really, but a brief survey of the guys I know, plus my friends comfirming their boyfriends don't like it is pretty solid evidence in my book. How many guys have you heard saying that they like it when girls don't wear make-up? This is actually b.s, no guy would be attracted to what I look like when I wake up in the morning sans make-up. What they really mean is they like a girl to look natural, and smearing black stuff all over your eyes doesn't fall under the 'natural' category. Comprendo?

3. It's so yesterday

...to quote Hilary Duff. Smokey eye and nude lip is so boring... it's so done. Everyone was raving about the perfect smokey eye/nude lip combo about 5 years ago. Do you want to look so 5 years ago? I didn't think so.

So if not the smokey eye, what? A good alternative is a sexy bold lip, fresh face and a hint of gel-liner slicked along the upper lashline.You can mix it up with a bright matte pink or a sizzling hot orange. Think retro-chic with a modern twist.

If that doesn't float your boat, gorgeous bronzed skin, a natural rosy lip and some pearlescent eye-shadow with lashings of mascara will work a treat. You'll look like you just came back from a holiday in St Tropez with this simple, fresh look.

Bobbi Brown Bronzing Powder - my fav bronzer.

So next time you're getting ready for that special event, heed my advice. Smokey eye is dead and buried, let's leave it rest in peace.