Sing it with me chingy styles 'I like ya heer, like ya heer'

When I was at uni I was hella cut that I wasn't part of the drama department, so I did all the electives in that area that I could. First year, I had this dramaturgy teacher who raved on endlessly and went off on so many tangents that most of his lectures ended up sounding like gobbldygook to me. As a little experiment, I wrote down everything he said in one morning. Except when he used the words art or drama I exchanged them for hair. After class I read back on the lesson and turned it into a little play. At the time I thought this was a good metaphor for wank in the arts department, but looking back I actually realise that this was quite apt for my relationship with me and my hair. It's something of an obsession.

I've dyed and cut so many times that I can't quite recall the natural state of it. I think it would be an ugly mousey brown. Woof, how unnoticeably girl next door. As soon as it's looking nice and normal I feel an itch to do something completely drastic and ruin all the hard months of the growing-out period I've had to endure. Blondes definitely have more fun, but the runner line they forgot to mention with that one is 'blondes have more bills' from the toner to the blonde shampoo to the monthly hair appointments (which I never make so end up looking like a skunk on parade) I'm always out of pocket due to my stupid hair. At least when I'm eating out of a can on my couch on a Friday night, my hair is looking fab.

When I moved out of home I found my writing theory notebooks which were filled with not notes to on writing theory but notes to my friend, a fellow hair obsessor, on my hair and questions about what I should do with it.

No wonder I came out of that degree wondering what the hell I was supposed to have learnt.

Let's speed up to present day. I'm bored. With my hair. It's lovely. It's gotten to a nice shoulder length, and is a natural caramel and beige blonde. I have a great relationship with my hair dresser, so I don't feel like I need to act out, but something is missing. That 'wow' factor.

I don't like this feeling. It's the calm before the storm of my usually bad impulse haircut. Once time I wanted a 1920s bob and came out looking like an old Italian momma. Someone please save me the heartache and tell me that safe is good, natural is best and consistency is key. Cos right now I'm thinking of a dramatic asymmetrical cut with fairy floss highlights. I'd also love a bowl cut, but I'm no yeah yeah yeah. Must remind myself that just because I imitate someone's haircut, that does not mean I suddenly resemble that person or their lifestyle

cactus O
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Hey hey, wait a minute Mr Postman

I think I'll be singing this tune a lot more as I approach my mailbox over the next few weeks. Yesterday I received an email from an ever so artsy friend asking if I wanted to partake in the Art Exchange. I send something I've made (picture/zine/drawing) to the person on my list, then forward my email on with details of my sender, then the people I email, pass on my details and so on and so forth until the whole world is art exchanging. Well not the whole world, but it really does bring a whole new meaning to the dreaded chain-letter.

I haven't felt this inspired in a long time. I bustled home yesterday arvo and cut, pasted, drew and wrote to my lil' heat's content. I filled an empty journal with pics and images that inspire me and make me happy. I made a little zine and stuck it in a secret envelope and wrapped it all up in pretty pink tissue paper.

Today I posted my parcel and now I wait. How amazing is this? I feel like I'm part of a secret society and I'm so thrilled that I'll be receiving mail other than bills for a change! The greatest part about the deal is that you have to be able to post within a week so I'll be able to show you all the special deliveries so very soon.

Thank god we don't rely on the carrier pigeon anymore. I don't think I could wait that long. Gosh I haven't felt this excited for mail since the dawn of ebay.

cactus
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Feel the creepy mormon love

Is anyone else secretly obsessed with Big Love?

I don't know what it is about their world. I'm split down the middle, one side being totally weirded-out yet the other strangely fascinated. I think it's the idea of the sister-wives that draws me in. Not the creepy compound ones, but the modern day women leading (fairly) normal lives but being this incredible support for one another. Maybe this is stemming from a childhood idealistic dream to live in a flat with your girlfriends with two cats. Cos in reality we all know that living with friends just doesn't work, yet if they were family you'd have that free pass to say whatever you like and act in any matter of ways and know that in half an hour it would truly be forgotten and they'd be asking you something menial like 'what's for dinner' or 'can I borrow that beige cardigan?' There's an odd unspoken rule where grudges are held no longer than 24 hours. My love for Big Love might also be because I have a girl-crush on Chloe Sevigny. Who doesn't? Even with those dorky fishtail plaits, she's hot-to-trot.

Raise your hands if you're tuning in for the big finale next week?

cactus (is)
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parlez vous francai?

What better to cheer me up on a rainy day than a present from Paris ... (yes I hear you a trip to Paris would be much more cheer-worthy, but this is the next best thing). Whilst on her journey, a lovely lady thought of me when she saw this beautiful silk green scarf. It has truly brightened my day and, I imagine, the day of those whom I commute with; a mix of red, green, pink blue and yellow among the shades of black and grey on the peak-hour bus. I'm sure I looked totally Parisian as I strolled along this morning ... if only people knew that this is the extent of my Frenchie training.



cactus

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The world is lazy

The perfect three minute pop song that's not too bubblegum (not that I don't like bubblegum)
It's three minutes of predictable phrases with an undercurrent of something a little more sombre the outro lyrics droning 'I hate sleeping alone'
The unsuitably retro and choreographed film clip takes the edge of what could have been a hip singles anthem casting depressing shots of girl band playing low slung instruments in an uber cool warehouse somewhere in downtown L.A.
Nice work Best Coast. I think you're gonna be my new best band.

cactus
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Tutti Frutti

The lovely Miss Holly J'aDoll, darling doll face of modern burlesque (pictured above) has created a night for virgin performers. How sweet of her to make their first time so memorable!

The night is called The Peel and will feature a whole bunch of burlesque newbies as well as some songstresses and samba-dancers in amidst a roaring Carmen Miranda-type MC.

Tonight is opening night and if you dress Frutti you get in for five bucks!

So get out those cherry accessories (I know you all still have them hidden away in the bottom draw with your mid-nineties fashion shame) and get yourself to Name that Bar tonight.

In the meantime make sure you stop by Miss J'aDoll's facebook page and check out her general fabulousness.
You won't be disappointed: http://www.facebook.com/holly.jadoll

See you there kittens.

cactus-fruit

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Meow!

She's clever, she's lovely and she's a Kitten!

If the Aristocats taught me anything it was that everybody wants to be a cat. And who wouldn't want to be Kitty Collects just a little bit? Check out her range of Goddess purses. They're so Gramorous, the perfect combination of grandma and glamorous: gramorous.

www.madeit.com.au/kittycollects

If I carry a clutch can I be part of the Kitty Club. Please?

cactus.

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