01 September 2013

In which I Need Your Help

How do you choose which car to buy? To date, my approach has been to walk into a dealership with no intention of buying anything, then signing on the dotted line within thirty minutes and picking up a new car about a week later. Luckily this approach has worked out well for me for the past ten years or so, but this time around I want to actually put some thought into my purchase before I lay down my cold, hard cash (that could no doubt be better spent on shoes).


I need something small (that says I have no intention of exercising my womb for child-bearing purposes), European (because I have only ever driven German cars and have become accustomed to the indicators being on the left), preferably manual (for the farm girl in me who learnt to drive the ute for strategic gate management purposes at age 10) with heated leather seating (a must have for my dodgy back) and parking sensors (too reliant on them now to go without), and everything else that a modern car should come with these days. Oh, and it can't be ugly. What do you recommend? So far I've looked at BMW, Mercedes Benz and Alfa Romeo. Am considering also looking at Audi and Volvo. Seems like so much work for one little purchase, not to mention the time wasted being wowed by men with rubber-soled shoes and ostentatious cufflinks at car dealerships.


In other news, I was gifted some new pink specs to replace my badly aged Chanel glasses. I have done my best Blue Steel to model them for you:

I also overindulged in lilac last, last week:

Dress: Alannah Hill 'Hey Sailor!' Frock

Cardi: Alannah Hill 'Baby Baby Chips & Gravy' cardi

Hair thing: Alannah Hill

Shoes: Christian Louboutin

Brooch: Shag (hi, Jeremy!)


I don't know that the surgery chair full body perspective is the best look for me, but it's something different for you to feast your eyes on, at least. You lucky thing, you.

And here are some random pictures just to keep you updated, pictorially speaking, about the magnificent excitement of my life (...):


Scintillating stuff.


20 August 2013

In which I Have A Sunday Funday

You know how people say that it's important to keep the romance alive in your relationship, to not let the flames of passion flicker out? Bollocks to that, I say. The real key is to romance yourself. That way, there's no disappointment, no unmet needs and only pure satisfaction. So, on Sunday, that's exactly what I did.

It would be fair to say that I'd had a shocker of a week. Disappointments left, right and centre, both at work and in my personal life. Come Friday afternoon I was experiencing some sort of bizarre right-side-only migraine, causing that side of my face to swell up and my secretary to politely exclaim that I 'didn't look quite right'. I was half-Elephant Man, half-Jocelyn Wildenstein - quite the look, but not one that I was so enamoured of that I wanted to keep it that way forever. The only solution to such a diabolical string of events was a day of solo sensory pleasure (no, it's not that sort of blog...) at Crown Perth.

I started off at the Isika Day Spa, which was lovely despite being more ...corporate... than my beloved Keturah just down the road from me. Everything is decked out in very soothing beachy tones:

The treatment rooms themselves are very pleasant, with private bathrooms attached so that you don't need to venture out of the room should nature call. I don't know about you, but there's something about massages that stimulate my bladder, so I was glad that the conveniences were so... convenient.

Aside from a massage, I had some sort of deep cleansing/purifying facial that left my skin looking like this (don't mind the dark circles, they come standard with the Ethnic Kid package):

Now, I'm not all that fussy about my skin and I'm not the sort of person that absolutely must be wearing makeup to leave the house, but I tend to think that a certain amount of facial grooming makes one look more presentable, especially when wearing clothes as outlandish as I often do. I mean, what's the point of wearing sequins on your backside if your face doesn't have at least a bit of complementary sparkle to match? On this occasion though, I was so relaxed that I simply wandered out of the day spa and over to Bistro Guillaume without a care in the world.

I finished off at Isika with a mani/pedi in their beauty salon/hair salon. Again, the surrounds were lovely and completely inoffensive, but I must say that I've have more precise applications of nail polish elsewhere. I suspect I chose dud colours, because they seemed thick and difficult to spread on the nails, but I still expected a more professional result. Nevertheless, the overall experience was a pleasant one and it was certainly a lovely way to spend a Sunday. 

The other thing I've noticed about spending time in day spas is that it makes me absolutely ravenous. If I had any doubts about dining alone during the daylight hours with no makeup on and some sort of massage oil slicked through my hair, they were immediately quelled by the growing demands of my stomach for food. So, feed it I did:
French onion soup
Beef Daube in red wine
Macaron the size of my forehead (and I have a substantial forehead)
I smashed all of that within the space of an hour and a bit, because I'm hardcore like that. I mean, there's no point pretending that I don't like my food - people only have to look me up and down once to understand that. I think the waitstaff must have thought that I looked a fright, but I couldn't care less. I was so deep into my auto-romance that I was practically oblivious to the rest of the world.

So, if ever you've had an exceedingly average week and are in need of cheering up, I highly recommend locating your nearest entertainment complex and booking yourself in for a day of pure indulgence. It works a treat.

In other news, while putting these amazing things away:
Dior 'Defile' rose gold holographic python pumps
I discovered that I had these lurking on my top shoe shelf:
Tom Ford for Gucci corset sandals
A new pair of amazing shoes and rediscovering an old pair of amazing shoes - has to be a good omen for the rest of the week.

21 June 2013

In which I Have My Revenge.

You know how when you complain that you're feeling fat, men in the vicinity tend to impart such pearls of wisdom as 'eat less, that will solve your problem' with nary a glimmer of understanding that for women (or, at least, me), it is SO SO SO SO SO much more complex than that?

And, to make things worse, blokes seem to be able to melt kilos off themselves simply by having one less Snickers bar a week?

Well, ladies, I have had my revenge. The Pharmacist Has A Belly And He Can't Get Rid Of It. I know I should be more sympathetic, but truth be told I am simply over the moon that he now understands what it's like for ME! Now we both struggle to get into our clothes in the morning - while I'm wrestling with my zippers in the corner, he's fighting the good fight with his trouser button. I now truly feel as though we are equals in our relationship. Isn't that sick sweet?

So, if anyone has any particularly compelling diet advice for a 6'5" Scotsman with an encroaching love handle problem, I'm sure he'd love to hear it. Equally, if anyone has similar advice for a 5'7" half-ethnic woman with a bottom that practically has it's own postcode, I'm all ears.

Continuing on from yesterday, here's a few more outfits that you missed out on:
Dress: Lady V London
Cardi: Alannah Hill
Shoes: Charlotte Olympia
Hair comb: Alannah Hill

Dress: Leona Edmiston
Shoes: Charlotte Olympia

Dress: Alannah Hill
Cardi: Alannah Hill
Shoes: Christian Louboutin via Redo My Shoe
Hair clip: Alannah Hill

Almost caught up now!

20 June 2013

In which I Play Catch Up

Thanks to everyone who left comments on my last post. I find it absolutely terrifying to talk to people about anything more than the purely trivial aspects of my life, so I was at odds over whether to hit the 'Publish' button on that post or not. I'm glad I did, though.

Since I've had a busier start to the year than I've intended (...or, since I've had a lazier start to the year than I've intended), I've accumulated quite the number of Friday outfits that have never made it to the blog. Tragic, I know. Do not mourn the loss for too long, though - I've decided to bestow them upon you in one big hit of the next couple of days (you lucky thing, you).

Without further ado: Casual Friday - The Lost Years (...Days)

Dress: Alannah Hill
Headband: Alannah Hill
Shoes: Christian Louboutin
Brooches: Butler & Wilson

Dress: Alannah Hill
Cardi: Alannah Hill
Shoes: Miu Miu (magenta glitter soles!)
Hat: Alannah Hill
Brooch: Chanel

Dress: Leona Edmiston
Belt: Alannah Hill
Headband: Alannah Hill
Shoes: Christian Louboutin

To be continued...

02 June 2013

In which I Hope

I hope my grandmother dies today.

When I was a child, my mother had some difficulty coping (she was living in a small country town in a brand new country, and my dad worked a lot). I spent a lot of time with my grandparents, and quickly became the apple of my grandfather's eye. Three more grandchildren followed in reasonably quick succession, but I remained his favourite and we were nearly inseparable. He would pick me up after school on Fridays, and we'd spend the weekends planting in the garden, drawing using his mathematical templates, learning from his English grammar guides and watching Yes, Minister, The Bill and sometimes even Minder together. I loved him dearly, and he loved me in return. When I was 7, he had a sudden heart attack driving home from the farm and died shortly afterwards. Although I was desperately sad that he was gone, my 7 year old self was comforted by the memories I had of him; a warm, funny, vibrant and fearsomely intellectual man who was more wonderful to me than I could ever have hoped for.

In the background, the whole time, and without complaint, was my grandmother. She was the precise opposite of my grandfather: mild where he was strong, gentle where he was bold and the kindest, loveliest, best person you could ever meet. She was constant and undemanding and his true life partner. My grandmother was never the life of the party nor figure of inspiration that my grandfather was, yet she never sought to be and never complained that the attention rarely focussed on her. In all my life, I have never once heard her swear or raise her voice. I have only seen her cry once, sitting alone at her kitchen table, quietly cutting the death notices for my grandfather out of the paper as keepsakes. It was one of those moments that I didn't quite understand at the time, but knew was important, so I stashed it away in my memory to reflect on when I was older and wiser. The sense of utter loss and lonliness that radiated from her is as clear to me today as it was then.

My grandmother is the first person that I have watched die. My mother's father died in a far away country before I had the chance to know who he was, and her mother died suddenly during our last family trip back to Iran. My grandfather's passing was equally swift. My grandmother has been slowly disappearing before us for the better part of a decade now. Parkinson's Disease has slowly taken over her body, first preventing the use of her legs and now rendering her barely able to speak or swallow. It's simply a matter of time before she is unable to communicate with us at all. Instead of the gentle old lady who used to tell me bedtime stories about the baker delivering his buns and bread via horse and cart, she dribbles and whimpers and struggles to make her lips and voicebox work together to form words. I know my frustration at seeing her like this is nothing compared to what she must be feeling inside.

I have been far from the perfect granddaughter. For so many years I resented having to go and visit her in her nursing home, hating the smells, the desperation, the lack of vitality that it represented to me. The utter shame I felt yesterday when she said she was 'surprised to see me' put paid to the delusion I'd managed to convince myself of; that if I was out of sight, I was out of mind. There's no amount of visits now that will make up for it, and I knew walking out of there yesterday that it could well be the last time I'll ever see her. I know she hopes it was last. She started out her life as an infant, at the mercy of others, and will end her life in the same condition. I know it's not what she wants, but it's what she must suffer. For all the miracle drugs and the medical breakthroughs that we credit with the wonder of extending life, we never stop to assess what the quality of that life is. My grandmother isn't living; she's existing, in some sort of bizarre state between life and death. It seems such a cruel and unusual punishment to inflict on a caring, compassionate and fundamentally good person. And so, when I told her yesterday that I'd see her next week, I knew that we were both thinking the same thing: I hope not.

31 May 2013

In which They Call Me Mellow Yellow

I think I might have an abnormally truncated skeletal structure in my arms. I'm finding that I'm having to turn up the cuffs on all my cardis these days, and not just one turn either. We're talking three or four folds here, people. I'm a good 10-20cm short of having model length arms, it seems. We'll have to add that to the list of things I wasn't aware I should be self conscious about, but am now...

...(like that time that a plastic surgeon told me he'd 'tidy up my nipple area' by reducing it down to a 'more conventional size'. Was never particularly bothered by my nipple region previously; now I'm constantly checking that they haven't marshalled an army to take over the rest of my body while I wasn't looking. Brilliant bedside manner they have, those plastic surgeons.)

Evidence of my deformity:

And here is the context in which it existed last Friday:
Dress: Lady V London
Cardi: Alannah Hill
Headband: Alannah Hill
Shoes: Christian Louboutin

Want to hear a sordid little secret about this outfit? All of it is brand new. And not because I purchased it all recently. Oh no, I've had all this stuff stashed in my wardrobe for yonks. How disgusting is that? I don't even remember buying the cardi, but I must admit it was quite the happy moment when I came across it in amongst the 200 or so other cardis that I own.

The Pharmacist picked me up after work last Friday and we went to the Good Butchers to get some fine meats and whatnot for dinner that night. Ended up scoring a free foccacia from my favourite Scottish butcher - turns out he was a fan of the yellow, and didn't have a problem with my short, short arms.

I do have another secret about this outfit, though. The eagle eyed among you will have recognised that Lady V London dresses have taken on an increasing role in my Friday outfits. They're cheap, they're cheerful and they arrive quickly - it's a bit of a no-brainer, really. However, they are also incredibly variably sized. All of my Lady V London dresses are the same size, but half fit and half don't. This dress fell into the latter category, so I employed the services of The Pharmacist to construct me a slap-dash deep-v back with the aid of a number of safety pins (Pro Tip: safety pins can fix just about any clothing issue, ever). Apart from feeling a little breezy on my back, it worked a treat. Perhaps once I let that plastic surgeon deal with my humongous nipples I'll no longer require the services of the safety pin, but we'll see.

23 May 2013

In which I Talk About Last Friday Night

I get the feeling that a lot of my readers think that I seamlessly transition from office to trendy-inner-city-bar on Fridays, since it would be too depressing to believe that I get so glammed up only to sit under fluorescent lighting for eight or nine hours, and then go home again. Well, I'm here to tell you that the reality is even worse than that. Not only am I not a feature on the Terrace-post-work-drinks circuit, I'm also a hardcore fan of Better Homes & Gardens, which means that I never, ever, ever go out on Friday nights if I can help it:

The shame.

I'm not sure how this addiction has crept up on me, but The Pharmacist now find ourselves deliberately scheduling our social events around this important 7:00pm Friday viewing slot. We've actually transitioned from being passive viewers to actively engaging with the content and implementing it in our own household. For example, last Friday night's episode featured quite a nifty revamp of a viewer's Hoarders-esque garage. After a few quick trips to Bunnings (of course), Tara and her team managed to turn the bombsite into something clean, orderly and quite spacious. So, first thing Saturday morning, The Pharmacist nipped down the road to our local Bunnings, picked up the very same DIY shelving that had featured in the program the night before (and that's the magic of product placement, folks) and set about transforming our shed from an eight-legged-beastie safehaven into an oasis of calm and zen.

Here's the shelving unit looking glorious in the corner:

Unfortunately I'm unable to show you the full effect of the transformation, because someone banged his head on the doorway to the shed (which is, of course, my fault, since I'm in charge of directing where other people choose to place their craniums...), which led to a massive man-tanty which in turn led to me being banished indoors because I was messing with the shed karma and causing terrible things to happen. I can, however, assure you that three bikes, a Christmas tree and associated decorative items, 400kg of university notes/thesis research, metres of unused bedding and various oddities not fit to be seen in the house now have a much more organised home to live in.

Sadly, I didn't wear this outfit while attempting our shed reno. I did, however, wear it to work last Friday:
Dress: Lady V London
Cardi: Alannah Hill
Shoes: Chanel
Headband: Butler & Wilson

For c. $33, the dress isn't bad. And, paired with these shoes, you'd never know! I'm finally starting to get the hang of this 'high-low' (that probably isn't even the correct abbreviation) trend thing.

The booties have been a treasure for many years now. Oftentimes I find that waking up at 4am is wasteful and makes me angry, however waking up at 4am to call Neiman's to get my hands on these is one of the best decisions I've ever made.

Another good decision in theory: getting a second cat. Unfortunately, now that the weather has started to cool in Perth, he's taken it upon himself to make himself at home in our bed. WARNING: IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE SIGHT OF FLABBY WHITE THIGHS, LOOK AWAY NOW.