that's what friends are for

I've been lucky to make some really wonderful friends over the years (balanced out with some dead-crap ones mind). It's got me thinking about what a good friend is. Friends should balance you out, bring out your good side, and help tame the dodgy side. Friends should make you laugh and make you feel fabulous. You should have friends for different occasions: phone friends, cocktail friends, dinner friends, email friends... and the new category, blog friends. I love how I can log onto a blog and get a little insight into what someone's doing and why. It's kind of like how I love wandering the streets at dusk, peering into windows to see what's going on in other worlds - how they've decorated, what they're eating... I know, only slightly peeping Tom.

I most admire my friends who are good at maintaining friendships (yes, I'm talking about you again M!). Thank goodness for email and facebook, otherwise life would zoom past me and before I knew it, it would be years before I caught up with some friends. I also love friends who are good at asking questions and who genuinely seem to care about others. I'm trying to bring that quality out in myself although it goes against my upbringing and being warned not to pry...

I'm going to treat my friends like a delicious sponge cake. Feed them all the right ingredients, carefully nurture them, then dive in and enjoy them. 

a touch of tuscany

I had my first sip of a frosty cold shot of limoncello right about here. This is the terrazza of the Ristoro Di Lomole and on the same night I tried fresh, black truffles shaved over creamy gnocchi.

After dinner we were walking back to our cars when our eyes were dazzled by dozens of fireflies. I'd only read of these magical creatures before and at first sight was in awe of their fairylike charm.

Bellisimo...

peachy keen

Happiness is... all the glorious shades of peach, apricot and petal pink I'm seeing around at the moment. On lips, on hips, on nails or tails they're girly shades that make me smile.

green eyes

What's the point of jealousy? It's such an insidious vice. I don't do jealousy. Envy? Hell yeah. I envy my best friend's gorgeousness and amazing style. Since the first day I saw her at Uni I envied how well she could put together the most incredible clothing and always look stunning and unique. She still does. I'm also dead-envious of the fact that she can dye her hair bright red - my fave hair hue. Envious? Yup. Jealous? Nope.

We also have friends who jet off to Paris every year and boy, that pushes my envy button. But I'm not jealous - I'm thrilled that they get to do this (particularly 'cause they bring me back violet food treats!)

Which is why I'm always startled when I see people who are jealous. It's destructive and I reckon it causes mean wrinkles that even Kidman-strength botox couldn't eradicate. Vive la difference, live and let live, que sera sera... so many songs sum up how I feel about this topic. But I guess that deep down, while my wardrobe will disagree, green's not my colour.

the number's up

I've made nearly 250 posts (I have conflicting info here - thanks blogger) since starting this wee bloggy a while back, and I've still yet to decide on a theme. I guess it's because I'm doing this for fun, and to hopefully ensure a few people get a giggle, swoon over a pair of shoes or try something different today. 

Just like an athlete needs to warm up before getting into the serious stuff, that's how I see this blog - as stretching my writing muscles. I need to warm up before getting into the stuff I get paid for... and it works. I've never been one to keep a journal although I love the romance of the idea. Hopefully this blog is stretching me to try new things and learn to share more of myself - I've always been crap at that.

These days I'm big on experiences. Show me something new and I'll give it a shot. So this weekend, I'm fetching to try something completely different... I just don't know what it is yet. It's gotta be achievable, cheap (or free, my bank balance is groaning) and fun. I'll let you know what I got up to if you let me in on your secrets too

everyone's a winner baby

Since signing up for gmail I've become so incredibly lucky. Every single day is like winning the lottery - which apparently I have in the UK, Ireland and sometimes even the United States. Nice. 

Not only that, but I've also become the beneficiary of quite a few estates which is handy considering my rampant shoe addiction.

And loans? I'll have money spilling from my ears at this rate - people are positively falling over themselves to give me money. I no longer need to sing, "If I had a little money..." 'cause now I'm part of this rich man's world.

However, for some reason the emails seem to be filed under a section previously reserved for a spiced luncheon meat...

it hurts

The first time I checked out lol cats I was obviously in a mood - I just didn't get it. Now, oh, now... I can haz cheezburger is totally saving my sanity. Whenever I'm in the mood for a quick giggle I'll choose a page at random and snickers will result. I've already watched the ninja cat video from You Tube, oh, I don't know, around 10 times, and it delights me every single viewing. No wonder people become crazy cat people, they're funny critters those kittehs.

sweet dreams are made of this...

heaven must be missing an angel

And that angel would have been wearing these shoes. Oh I want these so badly it hurts... Can't say I've heard of Charlotte Olympia in the shoe design arena before, but that little lady's fought some mighty big lions to gain today's top spot. You likee?

faux foe

In some ways I'm a fake it till you make it gal. My hair's ebony hue comes from a bottle every few weeks, and there's nothing I love more than slapping on the make-up for a big night out. But the one thing I don't understand is fake designer stuff. I was sitting on the train yesterday behind a woman in a shell suit, her hair tied up in a Scrunchie, with a "Louis Vuitton" handbag. Um, I don't think so... 

I still can't come to terms with shelling out for a fake. 

I nearly wept when I heard there is a fake Tiffany in Thailand. Fake Tiffany!!! What would Audrey say?

When we were in Rome (what, me, namedropping???) there were lines of gorgeous Nigerian men selling fakes along the lines to the Vatican, and to kill time (it was an hour and a half wait to see the Sistene Chapel, a girl gets bored) I glanced over at the bags. It was so sad to see faux Chanel, Dior and the ubiquitous Vuitton spread out on a blanket on the ground. However, my eye was caught by one pretty floral number. I kept glancing over and noted it didn't have any gigantic label emblazoned on it, it just looked like a pretty white, floral bag. This is where I made my fatal mistake and caught the guy's eye. "Pretty bag, you want pretty bag?" "Um, not really... well, how much is it?" Zing! "Fifty euros, special price, for you!"

That's when I thought about it, do I really want to spend that much money on a fraudulent bag. Nope. But guess how easily my bag seller gave up? At various points along the line, he'd pop over saying "Forty euros - because you beautiful lady", then "thirty eight, special price, today only..." I was exhausted by the time we reached the Chapel, but managed to soothe myself by gazing up, down and all around at the stunning art. 

Walking out, who comes running? Yep, bag man. My bag's now only 15 euros... I gave him some money for his troubles, and sent him on his way.

girl talk

What's more fun than a girly get-together? Summer frocks, champagne, giggles and nibbles are the perfect ingredients for a successful night out. We're christening the gorgeous Nicola's new pad and I can't wait to peek inside. 

Hopefully this unseasonably warm weather will continue and we'll be sipping bubbles in the courtyard until way after sunset. The moon's pretty full too, so it'll cast a flattering glow over all our faces - and who doesn't love that?

spooky

Guess what movie was on foxtel last night (but I missed 'cause I was dancing with the stars instead)? Pretty In Pink! Ah Molly, I do believe that she was my first strawberry blonde crush. Oh, and her car! I must say though, I'd always go for the funky boy over the pretty, bland boy...

work in progress

This is almost a cocktail-eye view of our pool-to-be. Standing here, you'll have just walked up the stairs into the pool house/pavillion/cabana... But whatever you call it, you'll probably have a cocktail in hand and be itching to dive into the azure waters.

le sigh

Paris is filled with these beauties, and every single one made my heart sing. My gorgeous girl couldn't resist a twirl either. 

This here's one that still makes my heart skip a beat. It's a two storey carousel at the foot of the dazzling white church that kisses the sky at the top of Paris.

Carousels in Australia have always let me down. For a start, the horsies never go up and down... probably due to fear of litigation should a child fall from grace.

However, in Paris, the subtle, muted beauties eternally enchant children, and the young at heart.

green fairyland

It's rare for me to meet a cocktail I don't like. That said, I can always pass up on a sweet cocktail (although maybe for dessert...) I like a lip-puckering cocktail, preferably one with lime, cranberry or lemon as the base. A margarita isn't complete without a rim of salt that I can slowly work my way around - and if anyone would like to argue that that's not the classic manner, well, fine, I'll move onto a Mojito. That said, should a cocktail contain Absinthe my hand will be shooting up in a "Yes Please!" It's the romance, the brooding gothic qualities and the hint of danger that appeal to me. So, when I was reading Kate Spade's Occasions last night I couldn't contain my squeal of joy when I read of this cocktail - a deadly combo of my two favourite obsessions...

Ernest Hemingway's Death-In-The-Afternoon Cocktail

Invite a friend over.

Pour one jigger of absinthe into each champagne glass.

Fill with champagne.

Drink 3, 4, or 5 of these very slowly while discussing fly-fishing (or the 1920s art scene in Paris, which is my preferred option - surely by number 5 Toulouse Latrec will have joined you...)

past perfect

Lately I've been revisiting some old movie favourites, and enjoying them immensely. The other week I happened upon Mermaids, and today, Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I cannot make the smile on my face budge when I'm watching that film. Matthew Broderick is so lucky. No matter what he did he could just say, "Excuse me honey..." and pop on that DVD and Sarah Jessica would forgive him anything. 

Maybe I need to accidentally catch a viewing of Pretty in Pink next... Or, Legally Blonde (yes, I realise that willing it to happen probably won't help - it's only upon being surprised by these films that I remain enchanted - deliberate viewing only results in disappointment)

moody blues

cutey patootey

I've never bought online before, but this little number from forever 21 might inspire me to. Admittedly I'd have to cut out the label, 'cause really, nothing would say "tragic mutton" more than a label stating "forever 21" but still, I'd chance it for those opiate-like poppies.

bella babes

I've always adored Miss Minogue, but I must say, I love my Kylie even more with curves (and curls)

who's the boss?

Earlier today I was awaiting coronation as Queen of Procrastination, but I decided that rather than wearing that tiara, I'd act instead. I decided to be my own boss and set to work for 45 minutes non-stop, and guess what? It worked. In that 45 minutes I wrote 750 words of a 1200 word article and it inspired me to keep going. At 11am I'd written 100 words, now, at 2pm I'm at 1150... and have organised the final interview I'll need to tidy the story up.

I've read about the timer method before, but never actually put in into practice, but it does work. It forces you to concentrate solely on the one task and knowing that there's an end in sight makes it easier to do what you have to do. 

I feel better now...