Day 137: What The Fashion Serious Can Learn From The Fashion Frivilous—Eurovision Day 1

I wrote the title of this blog first today. It is usually the last thing I do. But I had the highest hopes about what Eurovision 2013 would tell us about, well, not taking fashion too seriously. I. Tell. You. What. It was one of the great disappointments of my life. (Exaggeration Alert) Not worth getting my false eyelashes out for. Eurovision has conformed to normality! I am mortified. We don't watch Eurovision to see people who look like Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber. We watch it for the openly kitsch, post-modern, piss-take on popular culture and the mega-bucks behind it. We watch for the infiltration of the satorially creative/sartorially challenged former Eastern Block. We watch for excess of sequin, feather and hue. Sure, they had the wind machine. And yes there were a couple of scupturally challenging pieces, but for the most part there was beige, black and boring.

Irene               List_Addict
Kudos to Croatia for their jousting pantaloons; Montenegro for their version of Fergie (and the Black Eyed Peas) with her perspex wings; Belarus for one of only two countries who could muster up some colour; Moldova for wearing a cinema screen (that was taking photo-realism fabric prints to the next level) and the Serbians who were Alice-In-Wonderland meets the Disney Princess' with a troupe of Robert Plant type back-up singers who had just experienced some sort of glue and cotton ball mishap. Even the countries who usually spare no lack of expense creating the whackiest entrants (I think in the mad hope that they don't actually win and have to pay for the extravaganza that is next year's Eurovision contest—I'm thinking Ireland, UK and Greece here) submitted an actual teeny-bopper rock star. I will stop the rant and pray that twenty four hours brings a renewed Eurovision spirit. More tomorrow.

The Outfit Top/Dress: Op-shopped Jacket: Op-shopped Necklace: CCJJSS Shoes: Irregular Choice

Photographer de Jour: Moi

Who wore it better?

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Day 136: Drink Me; Eat Me

Nordic myths rock! Now I understand why the Scandanavians are so whacky. They really believe in elves and giants and trolls and other inhabitants of Tolkienesque tales. Don't get me wrong. I haven't actually read any, but I was reading about them today and now I want to. They are obviously the source of so much good literature and culture, from The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings to Harry Potter and everything other-worldly in between; from Wagner to Neil Gaiman and Douglas Adams; from Supernatural to Doctor Who to, most likely, The Simpsons (everything else is an influence on the The Simpsons!). There is so much on my list of things to read, but I think the list just got one chunky book longer.

List_Addict               Irene
I don't know if this is a good thing, but I think my capacity for food may have greatly decreased. That, or the alien actually is physically in my tummy taking up space. I think it is a good thing and for the most part I can get my mind to stop when my tummy does. Not tonight though. First real meal in about three days and I think I am going to explode. Luckily Lollii was there to take the fall for both of us in the end, but I think it was too late. I don't think I could even get a tea-soaked chocolate teddy bear biscuit in there if I tried. I'll try and let you know how it goes. If you don't hear from me again, I literally did explode.

The Outfit Orange Patterned Dress: Op-shopped Orange Knee-highs: Retail Shoes: Irregular Choice

Photographer de Jour: V——

Who wore it better?

Doing the link-in love-in today with:

Day 135: Dont Send Him Off With You Hair Still In Curlers

Feeling better because I am discovering the alien is getting around. When it was just me I felt it was personal and the little critter was after my kidneys for intergalactic harvesting. Now I can just be grateful it is probably general all-round bad public hygiene.

This is small in the blogging circles I hang out in like the unpopular kid, but I am awfully chuffed to have reached the ten thousand page views yesterday. Or, one of these days, they're all a blur. I am sure about a tenth of the views are from dodgy Russians (as opposed to lovely honest Russians, Welcome!), but I am choosing to ignore that and the unusual referring sites they fly in with. Whatever you do, don't click on them!! It is very hard. Sometimes I think it must be a mistake and the truth is that someone has found me and made me famous on their huge website. Ah, delusion. You are so comforting.

Irene               List_Addict
In the build up to Eurovision weekend, I have been researching outfits to wear. I googled 'Eurovision Outfits' in images, and then nearly fell out of my chair when there, five rows down, just behind Abba, Jedward and Lordi, was a picture of me!!!! In my kitchen, before I fixed it up. Looks so much better now. When I got B—— to see what looked odd about the search (without telling her what she was looking for), she spat out her tea with laughter. This is why the internet is dangerous. You never know when you'll turn up in a search and choke your best friend.

And speaking of which, B—— has jetted off today for a six month holiday on the Continent. The real Continent, not all those other fake ones—Europe. I recommended watching Django Unchained, Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, Jack Reacher, The Hobbit and The Rise of the Guardians on the flight. She has read Life of Pi, so although I wouldn't, I did suggest watching that as well. I am sure she will reject all but two of those suggestions. Why do I bother? It was odd to throw her out at low speed at the departure gates. Those one minute 'loading and unloading of passengers' areas (always makes me think of Flying High: the white zone ...) are not condusive to a proper goodbye. Especially when forty-three people start unloading a dozen large cardboard packages each from the vehicle in front. 'You might want to get in before them', I said. And with that, she was gone. B——, I hope you have a fabulous time and that the cough disappears soon as a sign that you are taking each day for the wonderful adventureful thing it is. Meet fabulous people, write fabulous things, enjoy fabulous moments. Lollii, V—— and I will see you back before you know it so make the very most. We will, of course, be making the most of an empty house—although there will be no nakedness except on Lollii's part until a better heater is installed! Enjoy and love you!!

The Outfit Orange Dress: Op-shopped Apron: Borrowed Shoes: Irregular Choice

Photographer de Jour: Moi

Who wore it better?

Getting linky today with:

Day 134: Orange Primas and Burnt Chocolate

Something got into my tummy and knocked my socks off from the inside. I think it is an alien. And it doesn't seem to be wanting to leave. It's also made cotton balls of my creative lobes—I have forgotten all the things I ever thought to talk about. There was something weird and paradoxical that B—— and I kept discussing and that I wanted to share with you. Gone. And I'd had this fantastic idea for something. Gone. Witticisms, observations, cynicisms, reviews, rebukes. All gone.

List_Addict               Irene
So at the risk of getting too far behind on this project, especially with content as riveting as this, I am posting and moving on. It is tomorrow already and I haven't done tomorrow's either. And I am not liking my chances of getting much done the day after either. So photos and drivel is all you are getting. My apologies.

The Outfit Orange Top: Op-shopped Skirt: Op-shopped Shoes: Irregular Choice

Photographer de Jour: Moi

Who wore it better?

Putting a link on with:



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Day 133: Simples

Mondays are whizzing by. I jiggled around on the scales until they read the same as last week. I seem to have lost focus. And as I sit here having a biscuit on the first day of my new 'healthy eating and exercise regime', I wonder why. Let me remind myself what is at stake. As it currently stands, if this was April fourteenth next year, I would have to go into my bank account and divvy up twenty five hundred dollars this way: two hundred for me (yay); and four hundred and sixty dollars each to the following five corporations—the Collingwood Football club (un-Australian not to hate them if you don't support them), the vile and despicable builders of the house next door to us; a puppy farm (it would literally kill me if I had to hand over money to these monsters—why can't I remember that when a biscuit seems like the only thing between me and instant death); and two other companies that, despite a lot of thinking and a lot of trawling, I can't muster up enough hate for at this stage. (Suggestions taken.) I am supposed to be on this new twelve week challenge. I am feeling flat. I want to make some commitments. I do. So what is holding me back? Just the eternal misery I associate with a diet that doesn't include the things I love to eat. So I am saying this, once again, right here, and you are my witness. I am committing, over the next twelve weeks, to three things. I will stick to the twelve hundred calorie days (may not be as exact as the program due to space restrictions and feeding only one person, but I will choose some meals and repeat them rather than following exactly). I will give up the sugar in my coffee except for my late night one (don't even go there people, yes, I will have a two sugar coffee just before bed or people will get hurt—emotionally). And I will diarise things like shopping and exercising so that they get done. Starting with a diary entry here to go out and get a diary tomorrow. To this, I commit! (Eek, tears)

Irene               List_Addict
Is an advertisment that you simply adore any guarantee of the success of the message the advertiser was trying to convey? I heart, big time, the Compare the Meerkat ad for Compare the Market. But I am wholly unconvinced of its ability to get me to use the company for car insurance. Mainly because I don't have a car. But I am quite hypnotisable and susceptible to advertising, I believe, and so the right ad may overcome that little hurdle. If, however, I ever needed to compare meerkats, there is only one place I would go. Simples, *tchlic*. I have just realised that Aleksandr Orlov, the star of this ad, has had numerous gigs in entertainment circles and even has a book for sale on Amazon about his family history. There I was thinking he was a fictional character. I am obviously the simples one!

The Outfit Orange (on the decidedly pink side of,)Dress: Op-shopped Coat: Op-shopped Belt: Primark Shoes: Irregular Choice

Photographer de Jour: V——

Who wore it better?

Getting linky today with:

and

and

Day 132: Orange Nearly-a-Week

Inadvertently I have gathered quite a number of orange items in the last couple of op/thrift shop/store trips and so it is officially orange nearly-a-week. It is not a full week as I will have to interrupt orangeness for the vastly more important Eurovision weekend.

Kindness headed towards Neely for the topics on today's Sunday Social which make topic finding a breeze! Thanks.

One year ago I was doing:
Exactly one year ago today I woke up with a migraine in the youth hostel in Earby in the United Kingdom, one of the many stops of my 2012 section of the Land's End to John O'Groats walk I am doing. Despite the fact that they should usually throw you out during the day, she sent me back to bed and let me sleep it off. It was an amazing trip for meeting wonderful women with interesting stories to tell.

Five years ago I was doing:
A major change of career from travel to emergency services. My doomed theory was that I wanted to work somewhere where I would not have to be nice to people. I was fed up with customer service. So I thought I would work for police communications, the prison system or customs. I chickened out on applying as a prison guard in the end, but applied for the other two. Both had a psych test. I believe one wanted people who passed it, and the other people who failed. Looking around at my work colleagues and friends, who I love dearly and who are all incredibly 'not-normal', I think ours required the fail. I also had a little fling-ette in Hawaii five years ago which was, I believe, the turning point to thinking, after the break down of a relationship I thought would be 'forever', that I would never be loved again. (Poor me.) Sometimes you think silly things and it is nice when that ends.

Ten Years ago I was doing:
A tantrum throwing session. I came back to work at the travel agency from a holiday and realised I could no longer abide an industry that rewarded selfishness. No-one had assisted my clients to the degree I would other people's clients while I was away and I quit then and there and signed up to go back to university to study literature and creative writing. I temped for another five years, but school was my life and the best thing I ever did. Hey, I am loving this topic. I am happy with these decisions. They have brought me to exactly this point and I am loving this point.

Irene               List_Addict
One year from now I will be doing:
Umm. Bit of a pattern, but one year from now I will be walking the last stage of my walk. Booked the holiday dates in just a couple of weeks ago. I estimate there may be about five hundred kilometeres to go. If I don't finish ... oh my lord, I will cry. And then I will go back again, touch the end, turn around and head a different route back down again. This could last a lifetime. Taking the boy this time. Lots of space with lots of nooks and crannies for one of us to bury the other if it doesn't work out well.

Five years from now I will be doing:
Maybe I will have finally submitted a proposal to do my PhD and will be using post-Freudian analysis and gender studies to analyse the effects of fatherlessness on violence as portrayed in Fight Club, Dexter and Dicken's Great Expectations. I'll be just about finished the dissertation and universities will be head-hunting my quirky analytical style to be part of their Literary Studies Faculty. I'll have to travel a lot. And I will have to get a bit braver about public speaking.

Ten years from now:
I will have bought my first home, which of course will be my beach house (I am skipping traditional first homes in favour of this more coveted option). It will have a covered verandah where I will write and blog while amazing storms roll over. A warm beach is by no means a pre-requisite. Actually, yes, I can see it. I think it is actually in Cornwall. And whenever I need to I can pop into London. Or Europe. Or the Caribbean.

The Outfit Orange Singlet: River Island Shirt: Op-shopped Shorts: Target Tights: Macy's Boots: Hunters

Photographer de Jour: V——

Who wore it better?

Linky today with:


and

Day 131: Never Mussed the Crease in Your Blue Serge Pants

Okay. Firstly, I am so sorry about asking you to go over to Lookbook and 'hype' me. I thought you could do it without having to sign up and hand over your first born first. Thank you if you did try. And, if for some reason you went over and thought, 'whoo, this looks good, I am going to join up', then don't forget to hype me and let me know when you post something and I will hype you back. I've got four looks up and not a single person looking. I am going to give it a couple of weeks and if I am still in obscurity, I will abandon all hope of being spotted and head-hunted for acting, modelling or to marry someone and move away from my oppressive life in [insert country here]. But while I am thinking about this, here is a quesion for you. What do you think about asking people to follow, or hype, or like, or adore you? I did it yesterday. And, honestly, I feel a little cheap. It seems to be not worth the begging. How do you feel about this? It cracks me up when people do it to me—especially when people ask you to follow them when they haven't followed you. I can imagine people making up a sentence, copying it, and pasting it into ever blog they visit. Please don't let me ever be that obsessed with stats. Virtually slap me if you see me going that way!

Irene               List_Addict
You know how teenagers are a strange bunch and do some weird things? When I was a teenager I developed a crush on the musical career of Marilyn Monroe. I think I may have loved her because she and I share a very limited vocal range. But I still have those songs on my i-Pod, and I love them. They have such wholesomely naughty lines in them. [My keyboard has gone sticky and so, despite beating down on the keys, some letters don't turn up. The last line actually came up 'They have such wholesomely naughty lies in them'. I think that works too.] On the way home tonight I was listening to her version of 'A Fine Romance'. Favourite line: True love should have the thrills that a healthy crime has, we don't have half the thrills that the march of time has'. Splendid. Sums it up perfectly. Poetry, lyrics and advertising are the smartest types of writing. They need to be able to get you quickly, strongly, emotionally, succinctly, electrically, visually. It is easy to ramble on forever and fill a novel (says someone who can't do it!! Write a novel that is, not ramble on forever—that I most certainly can do!), but those three modes take more than people give them credit for I think. I am taking their lead and stopping now before I over-labor all my points.

Well, after this at any rate. I got the spotty blue bike on the way home tonight. (It is spotty, but not blue. Very strange.) It went so perfectly with my striped skirt. It was unexpected pattern mixing! Now I'll stop talking. Now. Yep.

The Outfit Top: Ishka Skirt: Op-shopped Shoes: Irregular Choice

Photographer de Jour: V——

Who wore it better?

Making friends today with:

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