Wednesday, April 27, 2011

New Blog

As you all well know, I have quite a passion for tattoos and the art of tattooing I have shared with you my own tattoos and have now created a platform where I will be sharing not only mine but other peoples, I will introduce you to a whole world of tattooed people and show you their stories behind their tattoos. There will be informative posts on the history and background of tattooing and specific groups or styles.

A Drop of Ink

Check it out, follow it, recommend it.

If you have tattoos and would like to feature on this blog please comment with an email address. I would love to get as many people on board as possible.

This is something I am passionate about and hope that a little of that passion rubs off on you all.

xxx


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Mr. Music Man 2.0

There comes a time in most peoples lives where they realise that they perhaps they aren't nearly as talented as their parents would lead them to believe. That while their father would proudly display his new hand-decorated, cardboard toilet paper roll pen holder every Father's Day, Christmas and birthday, this does not make them Rodin. Nor do the endless crayon pictures on the fridge indicate that they are destined to be Picasso...sorry kids, he's already been and gone and yours was not the only refrigerator adorned with drawings.

I speak, of course, of the guy next door, the music man whose less than mad skills have gifted Boyfriend Cakes many a sleepless night.

He has moved on from chanting "Go, go power rangers" to playing the bongos at all hours. The musical talent that he possesses could barely fill a teaspoon, the only reason that he gets that many points is that he can play proper chords on his guitar...the strumming style leaves something to be desired though. For someone who has clearly made music such a massive part of their life it astounds me that he has so little sense of the rhythm...I guess that's why he's got the bongos...

Of all the auditory torture to which we are submitted by this gentleman, I wish upon wish that the only one that I would have to hear floating up from his window, which he refuses to close by the way, are the incessant sounds of Mario Kart.

He decided to try something out over the long weekend, what do you suppose he gifted us with?

I'll tell you because you'll never guess it.

A fucking pan flute.

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Tuesday, April 26, 2011

10 Moviegoing Commandments.

To the people who have not yet mastered the not overly difficult points of moviegoing etiquette, here are a few keys points that will help your cinematic experiences improve tenfold.
Follow these few steps and look forward to enjoying entire movies where people don't shoosh you, where the couple in front of you doesn't feel the need to put their hoods up in the vain hope that it will help to drown out the incessant screeching which is your voice.

Oh yes, most irritating ones, listen closely as I teach you how to be a valid member of the moviegoing public.

1. Thou shalt not try and take up both armrests.

2. Thou shalt munch quietly in the really suspenseful parts.

3. As soon as the candy bar advertisement is gone, thou shalt be silent as the grave. The non vampirey-rising from the dead grave.

4. Furthermore to Commandment 2, Thou shalt not comment in an obnoxious manner at every advertisement and trailer. You should probably also address your need to have your opinion heard on every matter. That level of self involvement is deeply unattractive.

5. Thou shalt not comment on the comic book origins of the characters in the feature film. Saying "he is a Marvel character" after the Marvel bit at the start of the movie flashes up does not increase your level of awesomeness and will not impress your date.

6. Thou shalt not release the gas that has built up in your stomach from an overindulgence in popcorn, giant cups of soft drink and sugary niblets. Its stinky murder in the dark. Bad.

7. Thou shalt not regurgitate the information that you looked up on your phone whilst waiting for your date to arrive like some kind of running commentary. Everyone has access to IMDB, you tool...chances are she does too.

8. In a largely empty cinema with unassigned seating, thou shalt not sit right beside the only other people in there. Its weird and creepy.

9. Thou shalt not ruin the movie, if you've already seen it, by engaging in spoiler alerty behavior, including but not limited to pre-emptive gasps, cringes or giggles.

10. Thou shalt respect the sanctity of the post film teaser. Don't get all impatient and leave before the lights start to un-dim. If they are still off, chances are that the director has saved a little scene for the end of the movie, before the credits really start to roll.

   
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Thursday, April 21, 2011

The Problem With Being A Ninja

I know that we have already touched on the fact that by introducing myself as a secret ninja, the title "secret" is no longer applicable so I left it out for the sake of artistic integrity.

The problem though with being a super stealthy ninja being is that you tend to surround yourself with ninja  items. More specifically, ninja furniture.

With its very on set of ninja skills, it keps you on your toes...or off them in my case.

Oh yes, I have fallen prey to my very own ninja furniture on many an occasion. The problem is that I know its there...I put it there, I helped Boyfriend Cakes carry it up the stairs when we moved here. I nearly dropped it on Boyfriend Cakes while helping him carry it up the stairs when we moved here. Therefore one would assume that I would be fully aware of its placement in our apartment which isn't huge...its not like we move the furniture around on a regular basis...or at all.

Herein lies the issue; ninja furniture, much like a secret ninja is a master of stealth and disguise, such that even a ninja is on occasion known to stub their broken toe (which they acquired while attempting to vault another piece of ninja furniture) thus setting back the recovery from said fracture. Perhaps I am experiencing my first uprising as ninja overlord of the apartment.

I guess it comes with the territory. Being the overlord of anything, you must expect tat at one time or another, your minions will try and revolt.

Sucks to be you, ninja furniture. I still have nine unbroken toes and all my limbs intact, you're not even nearly winning.

You should be ashamed of yourself...I say as I hobble out the door.






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Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Now Leaving Carb Town

Having spent almost two weeks now, partially incapacitated by my stupid broken toe, I have come to the horrifying realisation that I may have to cut back on the carbs and cheese laden foods which make me so happy in my belly places and make up a large portion of my diet. I'm simply not one of these women who survive on salad and water. I enjoy salad and I drink water but they are not the entirity of my average food intake.

Its not my fault that pastry and potatoes, pasta and rice taste so good.

Nor is it my fault that cheese is so delicious...especially when paired with any of the aforementioned foodstuffs.

It would appear that when one is incapable of exercising to no greater an extent than hobbling pitfully between visits in-field for work and consumes the same amount of delicious carby goodness as when exercise was a viable option, ones hard-ish work at the gym goes out the window. You also come to the stark realisation that it was your level of activity that kept you svelte and on the less than squishy side of life despite your unbridled passion for several glasses of wine with a bowl of pasta, not the magical metabolism that you've miraculously maintained since you were seventeen. Because that just doesn't happen. Sorry.

So for the next two weeks it is going to have to be goodbye potatoes, au revoir bread, ciao pasta. At least for dinner...if I eat them early that's ok right?




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Saturday, April 16, 2011

Rehab?

It struck me yesterday, as I was typing my previous post, that I have issues.

Real, honest to Jebus, may need to see a shrink, definitely need to get a sponsor and join a group with the suffix "anonymous" kinds of issues.

I love shoes, im aware that this is a well established fact and an affection shared by many a woman, and some men, I do have one male friend who has rather an enviable collection of sneakers.


While I am aware that they are in effect simply footwear, I see them more as works of art. Works of art who I may or may not have been heard to speak to and with whom I play favourites, delegating some to the naughty corner when they have fallen out of favour.

Images like this leave me with the bitter taste of burning envy in my mouth.
Christina Aguilera's shoe collecion

Jimmy Choo founder-Tamara Mellon's shoe collection
I seem, however, to be able to write about shoes with the passion of a lover, I have been known to call them this. I call them my babies. My family. I almost write for them as if to woo them, in case they come to life when I leave the house, power up my Macbook, log onto my sub-par internet connection and scour my blog pages for mention of themselves.

Again, I call your attention to my earlier statement, "I have issues".

Big ones.

I think its time that I found a hobby...other than one which allows me to indulge my obsession by writing about it on a public forum and not only forcibly causing my facebook community to read it with repeated posts pertaining to my glorious blog but inflicting it also upon an unsuspecting international audience, luring them in with a few choice key words and a series of pretty pictures.

Now taking suggestions for hobbies.

  
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Missing you

It has been a week since our last embrace.
A week since I have known you against my skin.

I feel lost.

Naked.

Alone.

Incomplete.

There aren't words enough to explain nor images enough to illustrate how much I miss wearing proper shoes.

Fucking broken toe.

My shoes are sitting there...lined up and waiting like soldiers waiting to march into a battle that seems never to come.

Wait my patient ones. It can't be long.

The swelling must subside and the bruising must abate and then we will be free to strut, oh yes, there will be unbridled strutting, til the cows come home.

Source: Tumblr


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Friday, April 15, 2011

Spoiled for Choice



In this day and age where we are shown something like 50 advertisements in a one hour television program, where every surface be it window, wall, floor or tshirt. Where even a fighter's back is fair game for advertising space, how are we to choose one product from that cluster fuck which is the multi-billion dollar world of marketing?

I come to this line of questioning as I am on the hunt for a new internet service provider and spent a good hour in a coffee store poaching their free internet (well...it can't really be viewed as poaching if they offer it freely...lets go with taking advantage of their hospitality and making it my bitch) I was overwhelmed with the options available. I Googled until I could google no more, I sent various messsages to various friends asking opinions and advice.

Seriously...how can it possibly be this difficult to make a choice? Especially for me, the woman who can stand in the doorway of a department store at the end of financial year and decide in about 15 seconds whether it is worth putting my life in danger pillaging any of the sale tables with the other 14,000 women who answer the siren call of the bi-annual sale season.

I give up, I cede defeat. Its all too hard. And I need good home internet...yesterday.

I'm going with the first one that screams unlimited data for less than I'm prepared to spend on a bottle of wine.







Images courtesay of weheartit

  



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Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Military Spending

There is a certain time of year which inevitably causes my pockets to empty and sees me almost throwing the contents of my wallet at strange young men in uniform or sweet elderly gentlemen. They get me...every time.To the point where I consider handing over my various and abundant VIP for my favourite boutiques, shoe stores and butcher, my platinum rewards, department store cards, one free with purchase and coffee card with seven of ten stamps already stamped because it really is a good discount and who am I to assume that returned servicemen and women wouldn't like to buy heavily discounted quality footwear while buying a sleeve of eye fillet and the option for a free coffee after just two lattes.

It is the volunteers selling the badges out the front of supermarkets, train stations and shopping centres on te lead-up to ANZAC day that draw me in even more than a two for one on Blahniks. Oh yeah. I just said that.


For my international readers who will have no idea what i'm talking about, ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps and ANZAC Day is a national day of rememberance in Australia which honours the soldiers who fouht in Gallipoli in World War 1, it now more broadly commemorates all those who have died in military operations for their countries.

Every time I see one of those young men in their uniforms, or the proud beautiful old men with their trays of badges I can't help but buy one. Or two. Or three. Its a compulsion over which I have no control.

I have been known to chase a very alarmed looking army boy who would have been a couple of years younger than I, up three levels of a shopping centre to buy a badge. As I walked away clutching my pin it dawned on me that if I had followed him up one more escalator he may havebeen obliged to treated me as a hostile threat.

Walking into Coles last night, I passed an elderly gentleman standing just right of the doorway wearing a beautiful grey suit and a pressed white shirt, holding a tray of pins and donation tin. A woman was asking him if he would like a seat, to which he replied, "sweetheart, i'm so riddlied with arthritis that if i sit down i may just die here". He smiled at me as I pulled out my wallet and he his hand hovered over the $2 pins. I pulled out a $20 and said "i'll take the big one". He looked at me in disbelief as I pressed the note into his hand.

As I was limping back to the checkout with me groceries, the old digger spied me, smiled and saluted.

I withdrew my last $10 and bought another badge.

Best $30 I have spent in a long time.

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Saturday, April 9, 2011

To my soul mates

I have been largely out of contact save for a few people in the last couple of weeks, due to winding down at my previous job and starting a new one. It kind of came to a head when I realised, via facebook that a few of my closest friends were now in relationships, going back overseas or broken up.

This kickstarted a frenzy of contact...my blatant refusal to be out of the loop in my friend's lives and denial that I had been neglecting these relationships in the recent past. It happens from time to time, with me anyway, where I go through a period of selfish laziness in which I will happily cocoon myself at home, screen calls and enjoy the company of Boyfriend Cakes, good books and a number of bottles of French wine. Once I snap out of these period of hibernation due to extreme bouts of cabin fever and the need for human contact I realise that there are a couple of key people who I have been ignoring. Not for any reason...mostly because i'm lazy...and kind of selfish!

At this time I go on a rampage, making sure that I get in touch with each of these people.

To the point where i refuse to acknowledge the inherent goings on in their lives and opt instead to bombard them across every possible form of social media, text message and phone calls until they have no choice but to respond...you know who you are. And you know i love you.

After a couple of phone calls and group facebook message conversations like this i realised that while some of the most important people in my life, with some of  whom friendships span up to 15 years, that there are some people who will simply always be in your life. they are the people that you should hold onto.

You do not need to speak to them every day, you do not even need to speak to them every week but every time you do see each other, speak, text, facebook, you both walk away from it feeling a little glow of love from that person and are safe in the knowledge that they are your soul mate...one of them anyway.

It is not only your lover, partner, husband or wife who bring additional meaning to your existence and if you don't have any of those people you are no worse off. There are dozens of people throughout your life who will help to complete you in different capacities. You may have known them forever or they may grace you for only a few months. This makes their role in your life no less important. They are there for a reason, to teach you something, for you to teach them.

They are the people who lift you up, laugh with you, let you cry all over their very expensive shirts and pick you up from various locations during your various stages of inebriation. The people who take your phone calls at 4am while you are on the bathroom floor of a nightclub swapping shoes with someone you just met. Who praise your ingenuity at being the only person in history to be able to break something on a couch or who pay for your breakfast when they know you're struggling for cash. They have played ninja turtles with you as a kid, using their Mum's washing baskets as shells and letting you use the good one. They call you when they wake up on a sidewalk after a big night out because they know you'll find it as amusing as they did. They are the ones who offer you help when you are too proud to ask and don't do the told you so dance when you fuck up...no matter how much you deserve it.

These are your soul mates.

These are the people who fill you life with love.









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Friday, April 8, 2011

Couch vault fail

It seems that my typing skills are not the only ones to have suffered in the week of intense introduction to the new work schedule...my ninja skills have apparently waned also.

While attempting a spectacular vault over the couch, being too lazy after my first session back at the gym in over a fortnight, I had something of an accident.

In my head the move was nothing short of breathtaking; the love child of parkour and classical ballet, ending in a dismount that would have earned at least a 9.6 from the harshest international gymnastics judge.

Source: Parkour = My Life


Unfortunately the reality of the situation is that halfway through my iridescently beautiful couch vault, my legs decided that they had done enough of a work out for the day and proceeded to fall, as if weighed down with lead, towards the back of the couch. Ordinarily, you will find that the back of a couch, while supportive, is quite soft but alas the same is not true when your right foot is careening towards that supportive structure like a freight train.

Causing my dismount to be much like this.


I am now nursing some impressive swelling on the potentially broken toes on my right foot.

Fail.

  

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Absentee Cakes

Its been about a week since my last post, so long, in fact, that my typing prowess has taken something of a nosedive. Its rather worrying how much of a workout the 'backspace' button is getting this morning!


I can't explain how excited I am that while I have not posted in so long, I am still getting a solid number of pageviews per day. You guys rock!

My neglect of my blog has not been due to laziness or lack of things to say, it has been from sheer tiredness. I started my new job this, week, kicking off Monday with a solid 12 hours and have possibly learned more in the past 4 days than I have collectively in the last 5 years...its been intense. My brain has gone from being a dried up little sponge slowly withering on the side of the draining board to a pulsating organ of learning.

That sounded much dirtier than I intended...

So my nerd level has risen exponentially and I fully expect that I will have to start wearing my glasses (which are incidentally the same pair as my new boss...who we love and whose genetic makeup i would consider massacring small villages for also...you should see her shoes) to work in the near future so that my clients will be able to fully appreciate my newly found leetness.
My most alarming discovery in my first week is the serious lack of newbie feeling that has been going around. That feeling that normally goes hand in hand with a new job/school/group. There has been no n00b pwning, no looking down, and no feeling of being the outsider. Everyone has time to introduce themselves, to help, to teach and teach happily...its eerie...I do not feel like the new kid whose shoes are a little too shiny, pencil case too un-graffitied and who must, at least once by the end of the first day be pushed into a puddle.

I will tell you, though, that I am incredibly glad that it is Friday.

Its been a gargantuan week and there is a good chance that if it doesn't rest, my little brain, which has been working at previously unrecorded rates will overload, explode and leave me looking like this.



And that's no help to anybody.
 
  
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