Lesley's Art Blog

Chew chew... eeewwww!

2012-01-20T04:11:00.000-08:00

By popular demand I thought I would tell a story about my holiday. No risk of retelling the people that know the story already as I'm pretty sure only one of my family members actually reads my blog. I'll preface this by mentioning that it was a great holiday all up and think it's best summarized with some of the things I learnt...

I learnt that after nineteen years I was a better skier at 6 than I am now.

I learnt that snow is pretty on the ground, until you have to step in it.

I learnt that when it snows - it's just really cold rain

I learnt that you can survive a nose bleed that lasts 3 weeks.

I learnt that you should always check your bag before you take it home with you (sorry Bridie)

I learnt that buying a Ukelele helps you when checking in more sinister things through customs

I learnt that Hawaiians have a slight Napoleon complex (ask them about the main land)

I learnt that standing up on a surf board is easy when it's so big it needs 3 people to take it to the beach

I learnt that no matter how pretty a Victoria's Secret bra is you should never wear it on your head.. you know who you are

And I learnt that no matter how hungry you are you should never eat out of the bin.

Case in point, I had finally stollen my laptop back from my little sis and was enjoying some surfing time that didn't involve the possibility of my arms falling off or swallowing copious amounts of sea water when I heard a grumble in the bed next to me. I looked up to see my sis staring at me with pouted lip and rubbing her stomach.

"I'm hungry" she whined imploringly. "Well, (began my not so sympathetic reply) you should have spent your money on food… not bracelets for the 1892 friends you apparently have on Facebook" Ok so maybe I thought it, I may have said instead… "oh, well I have plenty of snacks, what do you feel like" (I'm such a sucker)

"dunno"

"Corn chips"?

"Nah"

"Popcorn"

"Don't like it"

"uuummmm…fruit?"

"Noooo…(long pause) I'm hungry"

"Well I'm not your stomach, arms or brain so you're going to have to give me more to go on… why don't you order room service"

"I can't be bothered" (this was after a depressed look at the hotel phone sitting 3cm from her bed)

"Oh I know, I have some leftovers you can have, I got them yesterday - chickpea and rice dish sound ok? It's really good… and I only just put it in the bin!"

"It's in the bin??"

"Well, Yeah, (I reasoned) but I just put it in there, and it's right on the top, protected from the elements and it's our own bin so there isn't anything nasty in there and…(10 minutes later)… AND it's pretty fresh and.."

"Ok!" She held her hands up, "Why not" See this is the epitome of teenage laziness, your CBF attitude has you eating out of a bin because you wont pick up the phone sitting right next to you and order something decent.

So I set her up with a towel and discreetly brushed the tissues of the box of rice casserole I had thrown out earlier. When I could see her actively lifting food into her mouth I went on with what I told her was important work stuff… You Tube.

About 5 minutes into a hilarious interview I heard a muffled call next to me… something like Lesphflee…LESPHGFLEE!

I turned to see my sis in bed her mouth agape with mashed up rice and a weird white shriveled thing between the chopsticks she was delicately holding out for me to see.

"Isth… isth Vis Your gom?"

In an instant I realized what it was… it was indeed my gum, cold and shriveled from spending a day in the fridge. I lay there staring at her eyes wide, excuses cascading through my head and rested on the brilliantly thought out… "yeeeaaaah"

Without saying another word I slithered of the bed, prized the chopsticks from her stiff fingers, took the box of food and towel away then with 30 tissues in hand placed my hands under her chin for the masticated lentils to roll into. Folded the tissue, placed them in the bin and went back to what I was doing. Her traumatized face still vivid in my peripherals.

So yes another lesson learnt.

The other could arguably be, don't eat something you don't recognise… it's probably been in someones mouth.

So hope you guys learnt something from this, I'd love to hear if you learnt anything new this holiday's!

Until next week ^_^

Didn't have time to finish the illo's specific to this blog but they are on there way :)

Setting Sail

2012-01-14T05:28:00.000-08:00

Well it's a new year, and about time I OFFICIALLY announce

the new look for my website!

I hope you all had a brilliant Holiday and new year!

Here's to an even better 2012

Cheers ^_^

SAIL AWAY

Cheers!

2011-12-23T19:53:00.000-08:00

Well, what a month it's been!

Since I last posted I've been flat out animating, drawing, recording and hassling friends for snow gear for my impending trip to Denver, a place I'm typing from at this very moment :)

It's been quite a way to end whats been a year of ups, downs and the occasional round and round. I've travelled overseas twice, been picked up by the Andrea Brown literary agency under Kelly Sonnack, worked with a bunch of new clients, met with old ones, made a host of awesome new friends in the industry, Got picked up by the school magazine (something I've imagined since being in school and reading it myself), had my first licensing gig and a bunch of other stuff I'll stop mentioning as this is starting to sound like a shopping list of brags...

Things definitely haven't been boring though... well, unless you count October, when I had no tech equipment and got so lost I tried to take up crocheting which got me in a bit of a knot... literally, and saw me embroidering my jumper, something people only sigh with pity towards when being told.

Hope everyone has a brilliant Holiday and gets time to relax, party and eat with friends and family - Thanks so much for reading my blog guys, your viewing numbers and comments really make my day, you're all awesome ^_^

Happy Holidays and see you all next year - every week, I promise!

Hey Doodle Dandy

2011-12-01T16:06:00.000-08:00

A poem and some sketches for you guys ~sigh~ I'm becoming one of those people that updates their blog frustratingly sporadically so I'm going to seriously try and get back on track for the new year... For now I'm busy working on a few new projects that among other things have got me back to animating... more sketches to come - I just didn't want to dump all 50 photos on here at once :)

Here's to all the ugly kids

Not quite cute but funny kids

The rolly polly one browed boys

The short stout speccy four-eyed girls.

Thanks to all the kids with spots

upon who's skin you'd join the dots

Stand proud the frizzy messy haired

Pale skinned large nose and dairy-aired

You may not be conventional

belong in Milk or Bambino

But your the kids I love to see

All bony elbows and scabby knees

The kids that know who they are

The ones that end up going far

See I should know how this is true

I was ugly just like you

Would a rose by any other name smell as sweet?

2011-10-26T16:16:00.000-07:00

I know I know, I promised part 2 the very next week and what is it? Three weeks later… I could lie to you and blame the fact I’ve been without a computer, unfortunately I’m a bad liar, (I have already prefaced this with an omission of guilt). So I won’t lie, I have been without a computer though – the last three days have seemed an eternity – I feel like I’ve lost a child – the stress of not knowing where he is (not sure how my mac became gender specific, but there you go), not knowing who's looking after him or if he’s ok… It’s been tough… I’m like a junky too, every time I see a computer my fingers start tingling and a get all twitchy… people have been super nice, offering up their’s while I wait, the desperation in my face must be getting obvious, either that or the beads of sweat running down my forehead are giving me away. I haven’t obliged though – I’m worried I’ll get so carried away they’ll never get it back.

Oh man, as always I digress. To end the rant though you may be wondering how, given my current horrifying circumstances, I am managing to type this up. I finally caved and agreed to use the computers in the library (despite the sticky key boards and slow running times) they are at least bolted to the table so no chance of trying to discreetly stuff them in my backpack.

Part 2 of nicknames.

As you loyal readers are aware I covered the subject of given nicknames last entry (those that aren’t can go back and read it… go on…. No don’t just keep reading because you think I won’t know you haven’t checked… We’re all waiting… oh fine then).

This entry I wanted to mention the nicknames we get but aren’t really aware of. I’m not talking so much about the nasty ones, I’d rather not mention those… mostly because I’ve had my fair share and don't particularly want to reminisce swell because I’d prefer to keep this blog somewhat light hearted (first entry about my fish dyeing not included).

The nicknames I’m referring to are more likely known as 'identifiers' and always come as a bit of a shock when you become privy to them... even though it comes out a fair amount of time after it's use has been discontinued to avoid such embarrassments. My first was headband girl... let me explain. Before year 7, in order to give myself a little makeover, mum convinced me to get my hair layered. The people reading this with thick curly hair are already cringing in the knowledge how bad an idea this was… even before I found out the hairdresser couldn't cut a straight line to save her life. The do kept getting shorter and shorter, poofier and poofier until my tears forced her to stop.

It. Looked. Shocking.

so as a method of disguise I decided the large width elastic headband in navy blue (to match my uniform) was my best accessory. I wore it for a year, until mum finally forced me to stop claiming it made my head sweat and thus smell kinda funky. Luckily she intervened before stinky head became my new identifier. I found out about 'headband girl' years later on the bus with my best friend Luce.

"Really, headband girl? surely that wasn't my most distinguishable feature"..

"Well it was more that it was the first thing you could make out on your approach... short.. brown hair... headband….Lesley!"

My latest, and the inspiration for this entry, is... "eggplant girl"... Unfortunately this charming alias is still in use, thanks to the lovely people at my local sushi counter... what can I say, I'm a girl who knows what she likes... and I LEEEERVE me some eggplant.

So anyone else find out about an identifier they had OR have you give one to someone else? I know those of us who spent time in the service industry have a few... yeah I'm thinking of you "More berries man"

Lel

Nicknames

2011-09-26T03:50:00.000-07:00

Like every Australian I've grown up with nicknames. This is due to the fact that most people from Oz refuse to pronounce anything longer than two syllables. I'm guilty as well, it's not until you're in another country shortening strangers names after your first encounter that you start to realise how weird it can be. It doesn't stop at a nicknames - there are even nicknames for nicknames.. I think it has something to do with the statue of limitation on the first nickname… once people have sufficiently forgotten the object, place or persons original alias and the nickname has become it's identifier then that name will be shortened as well. On top of this is our tendency to slur so words become sewn together in a sentence like a patchwork quilt. How are you doing today becomes

"howyadointday?"

You're starting to get the picture. In short, nicknames are unavoidable. Unfortunately I have a name that lends itself to nicknames I would rather not go by. Lesley so often becomes - Les (a boys name) or some way of implying my sexual orientation - lessy, lesso, or as one friend so eloquently put it lesby… maybe if I actually was a lesbian it would make sense, but I'm not. I tried making up my own nickname - but for those of you who have ever tried that, you will understand how pointless this pursuit turned out to be.

The story ends happily though - when my little sister was born she couldn't pronounce my full name - so Lesley quickly became Lely, and just like that - my nickname was born - a 1 year old had solved a problem I'd been facing for 11 years - I was elated to say the least and tried to convince my parents to let me take my sister with me everywhere so people could hear the nickname and it would stick. they weren't convinced...

It did stick though and to this day my friends and family still call me Lely.. or Lel as the second round of nickname mania has shortened it to. I like it - ironically it sounds a lot like the hungarian pronunciation of my name - which is how my parents came across it in the first place - mum wanted a uni-sex name that would give me a fair chance in the work force and Dad wanted a name from the family - my noni's maiden name was picked and that was that.

Part 2 of nicknames next week...

In the meantime - do you have a nickname?

A-choooo!

2011-08-29T05:43:00.000-07:00

For anyone who happens to check my Facebook page now and then - hey to both of you… you may already know that I have been seriously suffering from the worst sneezing fits I've had since I was little…er... seriously I've been like sneezy the dwarf for three days now!

I've always suffered from hay fever and sinusitis , but there's a lot more than pollen that gets me going, I still remember being forced to do the prick test when I was about 11. They drew a grid on my arm and slowly pricked the different squares with a variety of essences most common to cause distress. Most squares quickly filled up with small red welts, nothing too serious, the biggest was dairy, that after only a minute or two, had already started creeping into the neighbouring squares.

The final square was dust. As the doctor lowered the needle I stopped him and said, that's ok, I know I'm allergic to dust, we don't have to prove anything here today. He looked at me over his glasses, a half patronising smile on his face thinking, listen girly, just let me do my job. I released his arm and as soon as the needle pierced my skin a giant angry red welt erupted across it's white surface, blotting out all other welts and causing me at once to feel the need for 9 inch nails so I could scratch the flesh of my bones.

Gruesome, but true. For those of you who've ever suffered allergies you'll understand my suffering. It sucks.

Enough woe is me though, things have been a lot better for me over the last few years, I try and stay away from highly polluted areas, dope up on Zyrtek in pollen season, have warned all that know me to cross chocolate, flowers and incense off my birthday list and lastly drastically change what I eat. Easy enough once you get the hang of it.

But this weekend I was a mess, on Sunday night after what I'm sure was about 50 sneezes in a row (and like most in my family, these are quite violent, often ending in pulled muscles, thrown discs or impaling ones self on sharp objects), a turn at sticking my finger half way to my brain through my ear to scratch the itch and weird clicking noises I make with my tongue to tickle the back of my throat I looked around wildly for a reason this could be happening. After all, there is only so many times you can dust your room.

As I scanned the scene with hazy, itchy eyes I suddenly came across the GIANT bag of lavender I had bought on Friday to stuff a toy I was making. It struck, like the scene in ratatouille when the critic is propelled back to his childhood in the South of France, skipping home from school on dirty tracks and feasting on the delicious rustic delights of his dear mother. I saw the welt on my skin, the one labelled... lavender…

Acting quickly with freshly gloved hands I grabbed the bag and chucked it out of my room, across the hall and down the stairs. In hindsight that may have been a little over dramatic. I had succeeded in removing the cause of my sudden Flu though and finally got a good nights sleep.

So the next time your suffering bad allergies and are convinced you just have a cold - have another look around - you may have unknowingly sabotaged yourself with a giant bag of your worst. nightmare.

Have a great week everyone!

I'm not completely certain this much saliva comes out of my mouth when
I sneeze... but I could be wrong

Sketch Dump

2011-08-22T01:13:00.000-07:00

I haven't really had time to finish anything so I thought I'd put up some sketches in the meantime :)

Hope you guys like them - the photos are a little dodgy - my sketch book doesn't really fit in the scanner... one day I'll have an A3 one...

I did these over the last few days, looking at the books - Lydie and The Best Birthday Party Ever! I've been feeling a little rusty from not sketching for a while so this is usually what I do to break through the barrier - just try and do as much as I can as fast as I can so I don't over think asnything - much easier to do when you have reference as you don't feel the pressure to create from scratch...

Hope everyone has been well - Promise I'll have some more finished stuff up here soon :)

Dear Fatty

2011-07-06T06:59:00.000-07:00

I had a few ideas about what to write over the last couple of weeks, in fact I can recall the moments exactly. Where I was, what I was doing, seeing, eating, smelling even wearing. You know what I can't recall… What I was going to write about.

It seems the older I get the more my brain becomes increasingly unpredictable… thankfully I'm not talking about turning into one of the loonies that suddenly starts yelling at people on the street (having said that, if people don't start respecting personal space we wont rule anything out).No, for now It has more to do with my memory, that is, how and when it decides to work.

The other day I was in the car and discovering I'd forgotten my Ipod (a life without my iPod doc seems so long ago) turned on the radio… to my surprise I could sing along to every single song they played, I'm not exaggerating… as each new verse blared from my tiny speakers I surprised myself with my lyric prowess. Sure I count myself pretty creepily attuned to remembering lyrics but I don't even remember listening to the songs in the first place.

There I was raping, scatting, singing and cooing until I arrived at my destination to discover I had completely forgotten why I was there.

So my faithful bloggers, cheers to those that had to walk up and down your stairs five time to today as each time you forgot why you were doing it yet can quote on demand the choice lines from your favourite tv shows… stay safe and when in doubt - write it down - I mean after all - what else is the back of your hand is for ^_^

Looking forward to hearing some of the things you've forgotten recently… unless you can't remember them ;)

The story behind the illo is my little ode to the amazing Dawn French - I don't know what it is about her but she's always made me giggle - this is a little scene I envisioned when reading little excerpts of her book "Dear Fatty"

Where wear were... in a word, confusing

2011-06-27T05:53:00.000-07:00

I can't spell.

It's an omission most that know me would not be surprised by - I'm sure even you, my lovely bloggers, have noticed a discord in my grammar abilities. I can't hide it, even with spell check the arrangement of letters alludes me. It doesn't help that in a rush to get the words on paper I skip letters and occasionally entire words before I even get to more finite specifications such as their spelling.

So it may then come as no further surprise to know that my means for getting it write (sorry, right) grammatically, phonetically and punctuationality (yes I know it's not a word) have been somewhat unconventional.

My first attempt - as instructed by my mum was to read. So I read (u-huh an example of spelling frustration) I read, and re-read . I read in bed. I read while I slept (ok so that was for purpose of making a nice rhyme) but if I could have read while sleeping I would have. I read so much I developed a stigmatism in my eye and had to get glasses… as well as bad headaches at night. I DIDN'T however get good at spelling. Instead I was merely opened to a world of new and fascinating words I couldn't use in a sentence…

One of my school stories actually read...

"Tilly waked throo the bush and found a g___________ (its the word for reely big) tree"

(teachers comment… did you mean great?")… how could she have known I meant gargantuan.

I was 9… hardly young enough to say I couldn't have known better. My next attempt was to cheat - I tried to get permission to write everything on the computer so I could use spell check. Mum said I was being lazy and should instead make use of our countless dictionaries. Great, more reading. However I quickly discovered the dictionary didn't do much good when you didn't even know the letter the word started with - I mean really "knife" … just stupid.

Finally I came across a method of success - singing! Words being spelled out in songs - I have an annoyingly good memory for song lyrics so when I came across ones that resembled a rhyming spelling bee I couldn't believe my luck!

I still remember the night I heard L-O-V-E a POPular song of the 90's. I ran down to mum bursting with excitement.

"MUM MUM MUM MUUUUUM …. (catching breath) guess what!!"

"… whaaaat?"

"I know how to spell LOVE!"

"Oh really that's lovely darling"

"Can I spell it for you?" (practically dancing with the thought of the impending spelling related kudos)

"Sure"

"hang on… I just have to get the tune…(mum looking perplexed)…(under my breath) hmmmhmmmhmm a wuurl tastes good now (loud as I could go) L-O-V-E - LOVE!!"

pause

"that's… fantastic darling.. now you just have to learn it without having to sing the song"

Other children may have found this discouraging, but soaring on the success of getting a word right I couldn't care less about the hours I'd have to spend getting the tune out of my head.

Well the end of the story is I still can't spell - what HAS changed is my attitude - my bad spelling defines me in some odd way - those christmas cards corrected in red the failed spelling tests (I'm still the only person to get 0 in the spelling test you have to take year 7 science… it's out of 20) I'm oddly proud of this little flaw in my design. Because at the end of the day, it really doesn't matter that I can't spell, I'd much rather talk anyway :)

Stay safe everyone

Lesley

Oh and as always let me know your thoughts - is there something you're oddly proud of?

I was brought up on cult videos...

2011-06-20T18:18:00.000-07:00

well I know what you're thinking. it's about time! No?…. how about, thought something had happened to you!..

Well if it's the later shame on you for not attempting to see if I was ok!

I kid. I am indeed back for now, hoping very much to get back to my startling early year record of one entry a week. In my defence we all seem to drop the ball a bit mid year , right? I mean think back to that distant January first day (don't be shocked as you realise it was 6months ago). The day you decided to make that all important resolution… how's that going for you?

That's right, I'm defending my laziness and dragging you down with me. On the plus side things have been busy. I've just finished a few big jobs that were (as well as being extremely fun and rewarding) a bit of a time suck. As I've said now to some random people I've caught up with recently where small talk was necessary I'm hoping to get to some of my own work in the coming months - especially with my big US trip getting so close (That's July 18th for those family members that can't seem to retain dates.. you know who you are).

So yes, busy times, fun times blah blah blah.

I've been trying to think of a story for this week - it seems an age since I've written one, and you faithful bloggers deserve more than just petty ramble (see above). So what can I tell you… hmmm

Ok this one combines the old and new. I've been getting into a bad habit lately of putting things of… not procrastination as such - as this act involves the guilty remembering's of tasks not done… no I simply discover their existence then tell my self (very convincingly I might add) that I will get to them later and COMPLETELY forget about them.

Emails, Meal times, taking medicine, so many little tasks throughout the day that unless acted upon their first impulse never eventuate. So to combine the old. I've made a little mid year resolution to get myself back on track. DO IT RIGHT NOW. I can see my sister (who I'm not convinced reads this, but moving on) giggling to herself as she understands exactly where I derived the inspiration for this mantra from.

You obviously can't take it too literally - if you're sitting on the loo and happen to remember that today was the day for calling your grandma… it can wait. It does however help to get things done. the idea came from a video my sister and I used to watch as kids. For some reason Mum doubted her ability to ensure the development of our basic manners and social skills. solution - the weirdest video I've ever seen in my life.

From what I remember after numerous viewings, and laughing fits, it was a video about manners, family and God (keep in mind that neither of my parents are religious). Sung in amusing rhymes by very peppy kids who's ethnic variety resembled a Beniton add.

Among the tracks were

- Helping hands - not as sinister as it sounds

- Do it Right now

- God is our sun … a difficult song to get out of your head which was unfortunate when hanging around my extremely atheist father.

- My mummy is having a baby - fairly self explanatory..

- Try it, you just might like it - A song my mum still quotes to this day…

- A song about kittens fighting… I never really did get that one…

- AND our favourite H-A-P-P-Y which like L-O-V-E by a girl group in the 90's taught me how to spell. (more on that later)

I've included some highlights below for your viewing pleasure.

(do it right now) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1N02cwjM4k&feature=related

(Helping hands) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNqpmyoF3-E&feature=related

Well that's it for me this week.

Hope you're all well and are now motivated on getting past goals on track or you know - maybe I just reminded you to call your grandma.

Let me know if you have any stories about weird parental techniques, goals gone by or when not doing something straight away has cost you.

Until next week ( I may write it now while I'm thinking about it ;)

The illo this week comes from a comp I entered recently - if you want to vote for my design

click on the link below - then click on a "appreciate" and finally 'like' ^_^ Thanks!

http://www.footlockerartprize.com/entry/318668

Gender Woes

2011-05-04T20:35:00.000-07:00

well hello there faithful bloggers, I write this with the hope you're all well middle of the first week in May… May… ~sigh~ Does any one else find it difficult to process the fact we are already almost half way through the year??

moving on…

I come to you this week with a drawing I know you've already seen but before you feel cheated I have good reason for it's use - you see, the remarks it has received lately have prompted the memory of a rather good story that gets the vote for entry of the week.

(probably the most r words you'll see in a sentence that isn't an example of alliteration)

Firstly you should know that my inspiration for drawing this illustration was to depict my reaction to modern art. My. Reaction. Yeah, it's me… yet I've had almost everyone refer to the character as a boy. Ok, so I'm aware that for someone who has always been somewhat androgenas in their dress sense the idea of jeans and a jumper leaning towards male seems strange. However despite the less than girly clothing and unkept do, this little one is indeed a girl.

Luckily the whole saga reminds me of a time when I was first shown how fluid the notion of sexuality is - don't worry, it's nothing risque. I was around 11 and on another glorious Lemon Tree holiday romp staying at a friend of our cousins for the night. It was out towards the red centre so the increase in heat and flies had become particular noticeable. Fortunately we found solace in the sudden burst of breeze we felt jumping on the trampoline in the front yard (whilst trying to push each other of) which is how we met … the neighbors.

Sad story, their mother had died when the youngest (a girl) was born. Unfortunately she was the only girl… and growing up in a household of boys had made her…confused. We tried our best to educate her otherwise but alas, our attempts were futile. In fact she was perfectly happy being a boy, and lets be honest, at 6 there really isn't a huge difference. I was happy to let it go, some however found the idea of gender far more important….

Have you ever seen an 8 year old explain to a 6 year old the difference between boys and girls?

I have…

I will never forget the memory of Alex becoming increasingly agitated in what she thought was an imperative gender intervention..

"NO. NO. NO! you're not LISTENING… ok, Boys… Boys have, a sausage…. Girls, have a…. a…. (desperately seeking word for something flat...) a pizza. YOU. have a PIZZZA… get it???"

Classic.

So, I guess what I'm saying here is when I really think about it, I don't care whether people think she's a boy or girl, as long you get the message, and any way, it's not the first time someone's thought I was a boy… but that story's for another time ^_^

Happy Mothers Day for Sunday!

Drifting off to sleep

2011-04-20T16:25:00.000-07:00

I know I promised a story but I still haven't had time, instead I leave you with a poem I wrote when I was about 14 or 15,

I have to brush my teeth

You forgot to kiss me goodnight

Please stay with me more

Don't turn of the light

Read me a story

Stroke my head

Sing me a lullaby

don't make me stay in bed

It's not fair you stay up longer

You leave early, I leave later

I'm not a baby

I can watch THAT show

Just a little longer..

One minute or so?

I'll stay right away

I wont make a sound!

You wont know I'm there

I'll sit here on the lounge

Pleeeeeeaaassse can I stay

Please with a cherry on top...

How about tomorrow?

Fine...

I guess not.

Trying a new colouring style - using some fancy watercolour brushes..

still getting the hang of it.

Hands in the air

2011-04-04T21:00:00.001-07:00

I've mentioned previously that I tend to be remembered. Whilst I'm sure it has something to do with a slightly uncommon name, terrible co-ordination and a tendency to be in the wrong place at the wrong time (ala dvd in the eye), I'm aware that these reasons are small when compared to my perpetual persistence in the pursuit of knowledge… that is, the fact I ask ALOT of questions

Yep, that girl sitting in the front row with her hand waving maniacally in the air of your classroom, university lecture hall, school assembly, work meeting or in fact any place of gathering, that's me. I bumped into a friend the other day who started explaining with excitement the book he is working on currently about the journey through University. Without pause he launched into a rundown of people you tend to meet that seem to tie into most students experiences,

"you know, that annoying person who's ALWAYS asking questions.. constantly has there hand up (laughs to himself)"

"yeah…..(I look around that was me"

….awkward…

Right about this time you might assume I'm ashamed by this fact, embarrassed by my unquenchable thirst for knowledge. Nope, far from it in fact. I love asking questions - ok, your thinking, we get that, probably why you keep asking them, but it's more than that. I'm exercising my right to ask them. Since when is wanting to learn a bad thing… Teachers in high school hated me for it, mostly because they never had the answers. I think that's sad, there seems to be this stigma in society where not knowing things is a weakness, a sign of stupidity. So as far as I can tell - no knowledge equals stupidity - in order find seed knowledge you need to ask questions - asking questions means you don't know this knowledge - and no knowledge… you see my point, it becomes a vicious cycle.

I teach part time and the first thing I tell my students is "don't ever be embarrassed about not knowing something, it has nothing to do with your intelligence, just the fact no one's told you yet. The only way you learn is to ask questions, and if no one knows the answer, we'll find it out together.

So go forth, ask those questions, - Seek. Learn. Grow… after all, my arms getting really tired from asking them all myself :)

(thanks to David Robert for the inspiration on this illustration -

check out his web site at http://www.davidrobertsillustration.com/home.html

(illustration idea came from the novel "Dirty Bertie")

Do you like my hat?

2011-03-31T03:13:00.000-07:00

So I realise this is a long time coming but I've been suffering a disconnection from the wide world of the web… good news (well that's relative I suppose) it's all up and running again and I am now able to get back to work… whilst of course being sufficiently distracted from it - thank you You tube :)

I find it interesting that for someone who has been deemed a person with little to no interest in their general appearance, I spend so much time talking or rather writing about it. I guess they have good reason to assume, I mean if you can memorise someones entire wardrobe after just one week spent in their company (and not because they have a fetish for changing outfits) there really can be no blame. Personally I think my limited wardrobe comes at an advantage - take my friend (who shall remain nameless) who just the other day lamented over diminishing wardrobe space and little money to replace the countless clothes she will inevitably throw away in the clean up. '

I have never had this problem, which for an admitted hoarder I find quite unbelievable. I'm afraid when it comes to clothes I'm simply not fussed. The other day I almost vomited over the poor retail assistant asking for 150 dollars for a bikini!!! Since when did two small pieces of fabric ask for my entire months savings? what, was it imported from another planet where they have to source material from the sun and have thousands of skilled highly paid bikini sewing aliens thread the pieces together with gold?

I digress. I guess my real point to this brief rant is no _____ (insert name of anyone who's remained in my life longer than two months) I don't care too much about my clothes, I only care when you say something about them - so if you think you're doing me a favour by saving me from embarrassment the next time I get dressed, do me a bigger favour and keep it to yourself before I develop a complex.

So this week, as I've done before, I shout out to the people getting dressed in the dark - the people that choose to brush their hair once a week (if ever), to the people being told they're not getting it right. Your not alone - and know that there are people out there that aren't judging you on what you look like - they're judging you on your Facebook status ^_^

sticky, savory, sensational...sushi

2011-03-14T04:22:00.000-07:00

Be warned - this is a bit of a rant ;)

What is it about those beautifully wrapped, hand crafted, admittedly delicious morsels of food that make us want to stuff the entire thing in our mouths in one hideous go. What ever happened to things being "too good to eat?". You're not in the dark people, snuggled discreetly in the cinema determined to demolishing the bucket of popcorn you traded your soul for on the way in (no it's not an exaggeration, cinema food really is that expensive). Happily oblivious to the excess that doesn't make your mouth spilling over your lap and the person next to you. The only people to condemn you being the poor cinema staff that have to clean up after you or again the poor person next to you attempting not to be distracted by your spitty, salty left overs flying in their direction.

No, instead you are in a well lit restaurant facing me directly (or worse next to me) as I watch with horror your attempt to shove even the largest of seaweed rolled rice parcels into your widened, possibly unhinged mouth. I've seen even the most sophisticated looking people resurface after a battle with a salmon avocado roll with god knows what clinging to parts of their face I felt sure food couldn't reach on the way to your mouth. It's revolting, and whats worse turns me of the perfectly good sushi sitting on my colorful plate.

So next time you settle down to a sushi go round and grab a dish from the conveyor - please try and remember you're not alone, you're not in the dark, and for the love of what ever you deem holy in the world the sushi isn't going any where - it doesn't need to go in all at once!

Signed the person sitting opposite you.

(the one with rice on their cheek and attempting to lick of the soy sauce off their left wrist)

In other, less angry news...

The illustration for this week is on it's way - was going to push through tonight and finish it but am feeling a bit crook lately - trying to take my health a bit more seriously - promise I'll have the illo up by the end of the week... hopefully it's worth the wait

Take care of yourselves everyone!

Lesley

Camp awesome!

2011-03-07T03:23:00.000-08:00

I. Love. Camps.

No you don't understand,

I am crazy, madly, head over heels, out of control, stupidly infatuated with the prospect of spending nights away from home, in a well worn bed, at an unfamiliar location, with people I may or may not know. Standing in a shower balancing on the tips of your toes while you attempt to slide on underwear without touching the walls of the shower or dropping them on the wet floor. Eating food that tastes like someone stood at the back of a restaurant and grabbed things that they were being thrown away. Playing games that make you feel completely un-athletic and uncoordinated (granted not too difficult for for me to feel) . I don't know what it is but there is something about a camp that gets me insanely excited. A camp quite simply is worth studying geography for… and that's exactly what I did.

Kiss and Catch

2011-02-27T16:21:00.000-08:00

First love

Unlike most who would site their first love as an inanimate object, first toy or food, I can honestly say mine - was a boy. For those that know me you may be surprised, after all I've been going out with the same lovely guy for over 4 years and describe him as my first proper boyfriend. sure there were a couple of others along the way, but lets be honest - a few emails with one word responses and another that turned out gay makes my track record a little grim.

Having said all that though, there was one boy in my past, the first boy, that I can honestly say was more than just a friend. from here on in I speak tentatively as I know this blog is linked to my face book and his brother (who was in my year) happens to be my friend. He was a year older than me. I was in a composite class in Kindergarten but at the time was convinced half the class was perpetually acting up as a reason for them staying back after school (kinders left half an hour earlier to avoid the extra traffic at pick up). One of those assumed deviants was a tall boy with brown hair that for reasons I don't quite remember caught my eye.

It wasn't long into the year that we found ourselves dating - something we thought appropriate after out rendezvous under a school desk while the teacher wasn't looking. A kiss meant you had to date I guess and it was a relationship based on holding hands, looking intently into each others eyes, exchanging classy yet cheap presents at our respective birthday parties and most importantly saw me working on the boys team in the many games of kiss and catch played on any sunny day ending with y.

It was a love that lasted almost all year, or what my five year old mind assumed was love. I guess I thought it meant when you liked someone enough to play on their team instead of your own. However it all came to a crashing end not long after my November birthday when after receiving a packet of golden bracelets (silver from his younger brother), I went to plant a routine kiss on his cheek and noticed something strange on his neck.

Upon further inspection that week at school I realized it was a big red, spotted - rash. Now, don't get me wrong, I was no stranger to rashes, having both a sister and dad with bad eczema they didn't gross me out as much as the next five year old, but it was enough to make me realize that maybe things weren't going to work out, and so, with a heavy heart , I broke up with him that lunch break over a vegemite sandwich and thermos of cottie's orange and mango cordial.

I know some of you are sitting there with your mouth hanging open and a frown on your face - "Lesley, you b#)*&h, you broke up with your boyfriend over a rash!" And to that I'd say… well, yeah…

I was five.

So good bloggers - forgive those in your life that act rashly (yeah… that's a pun), remember that we all still have that five year old inside that manages to be let loose occasionally and as long as the adult in you is in control long enough to clean up the mess, it is this we must judge each other on, not the event.

Have a great week and without sounding too preachy, send some good vibes to the poor kiwis in Christchurch : /

Lel

Sushi, sketching now sleep...

2011-02-18T04:06:00.000-08:00

Haven't uploaded straight up sketches in a while - but I don't have time to fix them up right now;

will definitely get to them later though ^_^

reading "Clive Eats Alligators" by Allison Lester when drawing these

above is scenes from breakfast

Types of dress...

Kids at play...

Did this one whilst waiting for my sushi to arrive at lunch...

Here's a little poem to appease my inner writer as well (I've been neglecting her a little lately thanks to a sudden influx of work) can't complain though, definitely better than no work ^_^

THE DARK

The light turns off

Its cold out there

Shadows lurk

know your not there

you left me here

alone in black

you said to sleep

that you'd be back

I wouldn't know

I'd be asleep

just close my eyes

try counting sheep

But I hear noise

there's something there

it thinks that I am unaware

Well I wont wait

for it to strike

I'll sleep with mum if so all night

Have a fantastic weekend everyone!

New Year, New ID

2011-01-27T03:53:00.000-08:00

New year, new ID

Been growing out my hair - it's now Mermaid length...

Girls - you know what I'm talking about ^_^

Just a quick one this week - things have been kind of hectic with work - which is a good thing,

Just something about hair, I used to have really really long hair, so long that I'd have to sweep it off my back before sitting so it wouldn't get stuck under my butt.

Every morning, like Rupunzel in her tower, mum (who was nothing like the witch from the story) would brush it out and plait it, accompanied by my occasional screams and whining - "mum, stop, it hurts". Until one morning, in an act of desperation, she dragged me outside and cut it of.

I couldn't believe it I went from being able to use my plait as a children's climbing rope to a bob so short I looked like someone had stuck a small cereal bowl on my head and cut around it. Which she had - much to my Aunty's horror (she was a hairdresser and tried her best to fix it when I saw her later that year). I was so traumatized that anytime I saw a movie where someone would cut their hair I would freak out, curl up in a ball and tug at my bowl cut - you can imagine everyone's surprise when before Joan of Arc even got to the stake I was balling my eyes out over her long locks floating down the river... Don't even get me started on Felicity...

It didn't take me too long to realize though that when running around, getting dirty and dealing with hot summer days short hair is definitely an advantage, which is why I kept it that way till at least year 8, when in a friendly girly sleep over I was told by friends that if I wanted to be prettier I'd need to get a tan, wax my eyebrows and grow my hair... aggh the tactfulness of 13 year old advice :)

But here I am 10 years later, with a yellowish tinge that took me till today to develop, two separate eyebrows and hair that reaches just past my boobs, a fact people are constantly shocked by as it's so often up and out of my way - even I forget it's long until I need to wash it...

Don't worry though, I didn't do it for them, I took my time and let changes happen gradually - something I recommend to any young readers out there - don't let anyone force you into doing something you're not ready for. Unless it's wearing deodorant - trust your mum when she's says it's time to start ;)

Have a great week!

Lely Cinderelly

2011-01-22T17:54:00.000-08:00

I'm not really into fashion, in fact if you asked any member of my family or particularly truthful friends you would come away convinced that I insist on dressing with my eye's clothes each morning and simply hoping for the best. I've gone way beyond that stage of looking through photos of your early years and cringing at the clothes you deemed "cool" I do that every morning when I look on the back of my chair and see the combination I had attempted the day before.

The awareness of my impending trip to jail, escorted roughly by the fashion police, didn't arise recently from a general look at normal outfits around me or the continued disproval of family and friends "Lesley, you look like a dag, go back upstairs and change or your not coming out with us". No, I've always had a feeling deep down I was destined for a life of odd looks and sad muttering.

Who could forget the hand shirt I wore for about a year that not only linked me to the joyous members of the toddlers band "high five" but invited anyone I passed to to either snicker inconspicuously then high five their friends or simply touch the shirt with an open hand as if I had asked them to do so (back in the days that this wasn't considered a sexual offense).

One of my favorite clothing blunders came about on a sunny "book day" in Primary. I had begged mum to help me make a cinderella costume, unlike most girls my age I was slightly boyish and thought cinderella in rags was far more appropriate attire for a parade in front of the entire school, so mum diligently stayed up late that night sewing paper patches on a few of my clothes that already looked a bit worn (side bar - this was almost my entire wardrobe). Walking to school the next day busily adjusting my head scarf and ripping some new holes in my skivvy I also thought it a good idea to smudge dirt on my face. It never occurred to me that it didn't have to be actual dirt, it could instead have been anything brown in colour, but I guess I wanted to be authentic.

I strolled proudly into school, stinking of fertilizer, in what I thought was such a kick ass outfit I'd be asked to lead our year in the parade. Head held high I walked straight into my friend who reeled back disgusted as she attempted to wipe my copious amounts of dirt off her gorgeous gown and then straightened her tiara flustered.

"wow Lesley, you look…. umm (I think she wanted to say dirty but instead said)… what.. aggh, who are you?

"Cinderella" I said proudly - pah, as if she didn't' know. Her eyes took in my outfit, looking through the dirt she saw the patches and it suddenly clicked

"Oh right, you're like, Cinderella in rags right?"

"Yep" I swished my skirt proudly "I put the dirt on myself, I wanted to be authentic"

"mmmm, looks, umm, looks authentic" she smiled sympathetically "I'm Cinderella too actually… the princess" - As if she had to clarify.

I wasn't fazed, I loved my dirt and the conversation was dropped.

Later that day it was time to have the parade. We gathered in the hot sun, parents, teachers and children, as each year took turns to walk around the circle. As I had predicted I was chosen to lead the parade - with my friend, little did I know the teachers had only agreed to have me accompany her as they liked the concept of seeing the before and after. A quarter of a lap in and I realized what people were laughing and pointing at, I was no longer the hard done by girl of the fairytale that had to work hard at life and happiness, I was just simply the princesses dirty cousin… Even my little sister shuffled back from the crowd head down when she saw the negative attention I was getting. I looked down and began to wipe some of the dirt off as discreetly as I could, my friend saw and it was in this moment she really became the definition of friend. She held her head up, took my hand and taking the tiara of her head, placed it on mine.

After that the laughing stopped and people began cheering, now this could also have had something to do with the fact that someone dressed up as Tigger from Whinnie the pooh did a small summersault behind us, but I like to think it was because people had seen the kindness of my friend and thought it was about time they did the same.

So if you see someone wearing something a little quirky or you think they may have gotten the dress code wrong, don't laugh, don't make fun - they're most probably aware of the blunder already, all they need is a little cheer, and I guarantee you'll make their day.

So in the words of Ellen

"Be kind to each other"

Your fashion backward correspondent

Lesley

I'm back, did you miss me?... don't answer that...

2011-01-17T03:01:00.000-08:00

Apparently I'm jewish.

No I've never been to a synagogue (I just had to spell check the word), practiced judaism, experienced the delights of 8 days of presents on Hanukah or even been lavished in the attention only a Bat Mitzvah could bestow. However thanks to my ancestry I haven't been able to escape the traits so wonderfully endowed within the Jewish community. No I'm not necessarily talking about my excessive amounts of hair - this I very well could have inherited from my mums side - I'd just like to take this moment to thank all the Maltese in my family that made combing my arm hairs a possibility, it has provided both my fiends and I hours of entertainment.

Nor is it the fact I like to crack a joke - I could very well attribute that to being around my dad and his brothers who enjoy continually one upping each other into fits of hilarity or even my love and consequent study of Stand up Comedy. I could even pass off my utter lack of co-ordination in any activity that involves a more complicated sequence of movement than putting one foot steadily after the other as bad luck. Or an un-explainable need to save money as pure good sense. No all this doesn't prove anything, I know… So what, I can hear you asking, makes me think I have seemingly un-avoided my heritage?… well the answer is plain and simple - staring you right in the face… or on my face, yep, there is no way the nose I have (slightly off centre) on my face says I'm a cute anglo from unknown origins.. It says, I'm jewish, and I'm proud of it.

While the other kids were busy searching for lollies on treasure hunts at the odd birthday occasion, I was sniffing them out. When pretty little friends of mine were being complimented on their beauty I was being asked by the kid next to me whether Pinocchio and I happened to be related. It's a fine nose, don't get me wrong, and when your a picky eater like me has an advantage - only I could find out which milk went into which coffee while I waitressed by sniffing them and handing them to the appropriate, albeit confused, customers.

After 24 years I have come to except my most prominent feature as in some ways my best. I've also learnt that when taking photos it's wise to avoid the profile shot.

So dear bloggers, in this new year - be kind to yourself, love your flaws, accept your heritage and be proud where you come from.

Until next week :)

I Believe I can fly...

2010-12-20T12:11:00.000-08:00

My grandparents live on a golf course.

That's right you read it correctly, you open their back garden fence and walk right onto the grassy, well mowed lawn of a respectable 18 hole golf course. A very handy happen stance if it's your hobby, and it was, or is rather. With two metal knees, a bad hip and extremely well permed hair my nanny still manages to do her 9 holes or so every weekend with the girls (that is ladies of her between 60 and 75 age group). What's more she's still extremely good at it. I still remember the time she attempted to take me out for the afternoon and after almost continuous swings and misses decided the golfing gene had definitely skipped a generation. A fact she was happy to tell me in a statement that went something like - "Well your rubbish aren't you" shattering any delusion I had of it simply being a bad day.

My golfing dreams aside, it's not all "rubbish" when it comes to my skills in activities on the green. For example I can walk around the course whilst dodging golf balls quite successfully (I haven't been hit yet), I am rather skilled at spotting balls in the long grass when shots go astray… careful to avoid deadly brown snakes that may be living in the vicinity and after a few years of driving experience I am a relatively accomplished golf bugger driver. Ok so I wouldn't say this was always the case - no I haven't been hit with a ball or bitten by a snake, but I have had a run in with some plants. A black boy to be exact - back when it wasn't politically incorrect to call them such, I think they're now referred to as Grass trees.

It was christmas night, we were celebrating at our grandparents, when all the kids (that is all 6 of us) decided we would take the golf buggy out for a spin. There's something about driving any sort of moving vehicle that is incredibly thrilling when you don't yet have a license and are still too short to reach the pedals. Well after years of pleading with my oldest cousin Paul we agreed that having grown an inch or so over the holidays, I was finally ready to have a go. I took my seat in the drivers side and slide to the edge in order to get my toe on the pedal, noticing quickly that I could barely see over the steering wheel.

Call it the christmas spirit but my cousin either didn't or pretended not to notice and continued his brief instructions. right is go left is stop - turn the steering wheel slowly in the direction you want to go and take it easy on the pedals. I nodded, feeling excitement well up inside of me… I lightly put my foot on the accelerator and got a laugh from the passengers behind me "you have to press harder than that Lesley" So I did, I think it was the joy of going fast for the first time in my life combined with the fact that I had a steering wheel in the way and bad night vision but within a minute of feeling the wind on my face we felt the car slam into something and I went flying out. Cue "I believe I can fly" as you imagine a skinny little 8 year old flying through the air onto the freshly mowed grass. I lifted my face from the dirt, spiting grass clippings out, and marveled at the fact I had no serious injury. Everyone came running over to see if I was ok, some genuinely concerned, others attempting unsuccessfully to hide their laughter.

In fact Paul was the most concerned… that was until he saw the damage I had done to the buggy. For those that have never known someone with a short temper let me explain it. imagine a very fast car that can go from naught to 200 in 30 seconds… that's what it's like for a person quick to anger - you could see the emotion well in him, like a red tidal wave advancing from the bottom of his neck to his forehead. I remained on the ground hoping that if I still looked helpless and disabled he may direct his eminent torrent of abuse on something or someone else. I sat waiting… and waiting, but nothing happened. "Get in the back" is all he said. So piling back into the buggy we headed back to the house, scared and wary of Paul's eventual outrage but even more so of what Granddad would do.

This is when the story takes a surprising turn, something to this day I am still baffled by. We were right about one thing, Granddad was not happy - we waited in another room the next day while he sat with Paul furiously explaining his disappointment. I could hear yelling and table fist slamming, waiting with dread for my name to be called to join the barrage of reprimand. After about 15 minutes Paul walked in, steely faced and tight lipped. "Does he want to see me now" I gulped, worried that I may actually wet my pants. Paul just looked at me, a sort of sadness in his eyes and just shook his head "Come on" he answered "Let's go to the garden and play". So we did, I don't know if it was the shock or the fact I was easily distracted but I forgot about it after that. I found out later that Paul had taken the wrap for me, something he neither owed me or was better off doing. If anything, as a bit of a goody goody, I probably would have got off quite lightly compared. I never told my granddad it was me, and when he died it's the one thing I regretted (however mum is sure he knew), maybe he did, maybe he thought I would punish myself enough (which I did). I don't know, all I know for sure is that, people will surprise you, and that when others say you are still too short to drive, they really mean it.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE,

Drive safe this holidays ^_^

B-O-R-E-D

2010-12-13T03:39:00.000-08:00

When your a kid, going to a restaurant can be really boring, especially when the company is comprised mainly of adults. The idea of a child being better seen than heard tends to apply and you end up forced to sit there amongst clinking cutlery and plates listening to the 'grownups' of the table go on about work and commitments and many other topics that have absolutely no relation to you. They may as well be speaking in another language, which can seem the case if your parents have jobs that tend to involve a completely ludicrous amount of jargon. The KPG's and the CPI's, investments in BMO's and SJ who apparently was seeing MR behind PK's back. The amount of acronyms the average work environment can come up with is actually quite startling, in fact I'm sure if this creative energy was funneled into something more constructive, productivity and idea generation would abound. Alas, I digress, my point was that adult conversation can be really really boring!

Even now I found myself stuck in the middle, no longer young enough to be amused by the romance of my knife and fork (yes I used to pretend they were married, with the smaller, entree set becoming their children) but I'm not yet old enough to have succumbed to the average pressures and annoyances of being an adult and working a job you either don't like or aren't particularly happy with. Not to mention I haven't accumulated enough life experience to be annoyed by most of the things around me that fail to meet my expectations or high standards.

So being at any table with adults, or even just people you can't relate to, can lead to mind numbing, comma inducing boredom! Thank goodness I managed to think on my feet, so when the prospect of yet another night spent moving my knife and fork around the table avoiding the spoon and keeping up with the smaller yet equally shiny silverware sent me into fits of narcolepsy, I decided I was going to occupy myself. This had to be done strategically, I couldn't appear to be 'acting up' neither could it seem like I was bored with the parents, insolent, or that I had disappeared. A parent can sense these things quite expertly, unless of course the conversation moves onto politics or problems faced by their respective industries, a case where they tend to spend the next hour one upping each other. I thus want to share with you, my lovely readers, ways in which you can occupy yourself discreetly and thus maybe keeping you from empaling yourself on your fork after having to 'actively' listen to topics that are as interesting to you as watching paint dry in a white room with no furniture.

1. If your in a pizza place, elect to help them fold takeaway boxes - not something for my older readers but great for you kids, it not only gets you away from the table but the parents are usually so enthused by your eagerness to be helpful and you are in 99% of cases offered dessert.

2. Ask for dough, this can work at any place that make's bread or pizza, while away the hours making cute little snowmen and unflattering effigies of your boss. If anyone asks, you can better concentrate on conversation when your hands are occupied

3. Make up stories about the people sitting around you on other tables, highly amusing and can entertain for hours - just be careful, if you start laughing at an image you've conjured about a particularly strange couple next to you be sure that the laughter matches the conversation of your friends. I have often placed giggles or comments in highly inappropriate topics of conversation due to lapses of concentration, not something I enjoy being remembered for.

4. Fold napkins, hard when dining at a more fancy place where linen has been chosen over more disposable materials, but still a great way to work on your origami skills.

5. Go to the 'bathroom'. In other words, excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, and go and find more interesting people to talk to instead. If asked why you took so long just say you got locked in. If you are somehow caught having a conversation with someone else, quickly imply that these are the people that saved your life and exit the situation quickly.

Good luck bloggers,

and may your meals be filled with interesting conversation

ALSO EXTRA EXTRA

I just entered a competition and could really use your help!

All I need is for you to go to the address bellow and vote for my portfolio -

no sign up required, just follow the link and click on the 5th star ^_^

Thanks everyone!

CLICK ME!

Honest truly I do

2010-12-06T04:23:00.000-08:00

I have pretty strict parents. Not mean, or cruel, but definitely strict. Report cards were often littered with margined comments of - "need to improve". My school bag would be graded at the end of each day with gold stickers rewarded for organization and cleanliness. Bedtime was strictly adhered to and most shockingly to my classmates, there was absolutely no tv on a school night. "Not even when you eat afternoon tea?"

"Nope"

"How about the morning??"

"Nope"

"No cheese tv?" (apologies to my international readers for this unabashed Australian reference)

"Nope"

This would continue until boredom availed and a sense of hopelessness crept in. You may now be thinking along the lines of my peers. "What? No TV, not at all??" but to be perfectly honest, the 'saying ignorance is bliss' is true to it's meaning. I really didn't know what I was missing out on.

The only thing I was aware of that need changing was my bedtime. Bedtime was 7:30, no I wasn't 4, it was a time set well into my high school years with the only difference being that later on I was allowed to read for an hour once under the covers. I quickly discovered that the well placed timing of reading lights being switched off and on meant that this could be extended to at least 11. That is unless mum stumbled in earlier and switched them of for me, grumbling about waking her up. I became hooked, hooked on the feeling of staying up past your bedtime. I longed for new years eve where beds weren't laid in till after midnight. I loved the sounds that came with the night, the scurrying of possums on our tin awnings, the loan cars crawling down the street and the faint clinking of glasses from the people next door who, like me, appreciated the late hours of the day.

You can now fitly Imagine my delight when we received the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on one particular christmas day. I didn't really know the movie, in fact it's live action contents didn't thrill me at all at first. Our video library comprised 90% animated films with the exception of mums creepy 80's workout instructional's. That was until I read the back, there in tiny black font, right beside the barcode, was the number 144. I realized with a surge of excitement that it meant the movie was over 2 hours long.

Do you know what that meant?? It meant that if I timed it right, when mum said "you can watch one movie before bed" this baby could take us into hours WELL after our bedtime. How could they be so naive I thought with glee, this movie was my ticket to late nights, to staying up, to being a grownup. I must have watched that movie at least 52 times that year. Every week when given the choice of what movie we'd like to watch it was out of it's case and into the VCR before mum even finished the sentence. Alex and I even endured the disgustingly sappy "lovely lonely man" by Scrumptious so we could stay up 3 minutes longer. Although sometimes the thought of her swinging and running round her garden on fast forward was too much of a temptation to resist.

That year it became our mission to stay up. Something Alex gave up soon enough when the thought of going to bed with lights still on was more comforting then the impenetrable darkness of being the last one in bed. For me though, it was just the beginning. As time wore on I came up with new and more elaborate ways to push back my bedtime. Homework commitments, tidying my room, I still remember the night I took out all my clothes from the drawers and convinced mum I wouldn't be able to sleep till they were all folded neatly away.. . I realize this doesn't exactly make me a night time rebel to be idolized by small children looking for ways to escape bedtime, but it was never about not doing what I was told - something I couldn't really conceive of due to what I'm sure was elaborate brainwashing techniques by my parents. No, staying up offered more than the thrill of being up when you shouldn't. It was an escape, a time when I didn't have to be anyone, or talk to anyone. There was only blackness, and in the blackness, the opportunity for my imagination to create worlds.

Happy imagining everyone

Lesley

Speaking of movies I love, if you haven't seen Coraline yet you need to! in fact, stop reading right now and go and get it and watch it tonight! ^_^

Listening to your elders

2010-11-29T02:33:00.000-08:00

As you grow there are things adults will tell you to do that are meant, not only to keep you alive, but stop them from having to explain to social services why the soon to be dot to dot game of bruises speckling your body are result of stupidity rather than abuse. For example... don't run across the road, this makes sense, cars are larger, stronger and much faster than you, if it came to a fight it is easy to see who would stand victor in the end. How about - Don't stick your hand into fire... Fire is hot, again an unhappy result from this union does seem likely to occur.

So when my cousins said, don't stick your hand in the pool table you would think I'd take head their advice. They were after all older, more experienced and generally spent less time injured than I did. However my ability to rationalize any instruction unfortunately lead me down the wrong path. You see, when weighing up the size of the ball and my cousins aim, I honestly thought I had nothing to worry about. I will never forget the mind numbing pain of having all your fingers crushed between a hard wood plank and a heavy ceramic ball... I spent the rest of the holiday in a bandage with the throbbing of every small bone in my fingers providing a constant reminder that it's always best, to listen to your elders.. well most of the time anyway.

Stay safe everyone ^_^

I never really drew on the walls, but I was fortunate - or unfortunate (not sure yet) to hear the story of a little boy that was caught painting the walls with his poo - this entry goes out out to Nat that has to endure stories (and visuals) like this every week.

What colour should chicken be?

2010-11-22T02:44:00.000-08:00

After a an unsuccessful attempt at cooking dinner last night (should have listened to my instincts when they said not to put the whole stock cube in the stir fry), it started me thinking on all the other culinary disasters I have managed to survive in my time as chef. As I've told you before, mum enjoyed giving us independence, pushing us on numerous occasions to take initiative and look after ourselves. When I was around 10 years old, her sights turned to the kitchen. Having always asked for company there, we had on many occasion watched with fascination as she would create dishes from scratch. A fan of simple and tasty meals, they usually consisted of some type of meat and veggies, although occasionally it would branch into something really creative, like her family famous "Stack". That is a whole bunch of different veggies sliced wafer thin and piled high amongst generous dollops of persian feta, olive tapenade, pea sauce and topped with a sprinkling of parsnip chips. mmmmm, Stack…. Ok I'm back (had to go down and get a snack, I think it may be dangerous for me to write about food, may have to lock myself in a room in future). I must also mention our own creative endeavors - times that usually involved forcing each other to eat things we knew the other was allergic to or disliked intensely. Any way the point of that little digression was that it was not our first time in the kitchen, nor was it the first time we had been told to help prepare things for the table.

So when the time came for my duties as "big sister" to extend to putting dinner on the table, I was happy to oblige. Cut to the night in question. All I had to do was take the crumbed chicken fillets out of the freezer, follow the instructions and make a salad… seemed simple enough. So carefully removing the chicken from its brightly colored box and dropping the fillets into the pan I turned on the oven to 180 and pushed them to the back. Done, now to the salad. Looking back on it, I must admit it wasn't my most impressive assembly of greens as it really only consisted of lettuce with copious amounts of dressing. In fact I think the ratio was something like 3 parts dressing, one part salad. However, although highly vinegary, it didn't taste all bad. By about this time I heard the ding on the oven and seeing heat rising from the now golden crumbs of the chicken, I grabbed our rooster oven mits and carefully slid the chicken from the hot interior. After placing them on a plate along with some tomato sauce I had made into a cute yet slightly wobbly smiley face, with the salad on the side, I headed out with the plates for us to enjoy.

We had decided to eat in front of the tv, where light was scarce but our bean bags provided a sort of chair and table in one. Having never been able to do more then one thing when tv was involved I had a nibble of my chicken and lost interest as the show moved on. My sister however, never letting anything get in the way of a meal, had torn through her salad and half her chicken in about five minutes when a splash of unexpected light came bouncing of the tv and onto her plate. "Um Lesley" she said softly, concealed by her bean bag "Yeah?" I replied absentmindedly

"umm… is the chicken… well is it supposed to be pink in the middle?" My eye's widened as I realised what she had said, not answering I cut my chicken in half to inspect the damage and sure enough not only was it pink but almost completely raw. Struggling to get out of the bag I put down my plate and told her to stop immediately. That the chicken was fine but I should probably put it in for a second go just in case. I left her in the lounge room looking confused and slightly green. I felt terrible, my first time making dinner and I was being faced with the possibility of jail for poisoning and killing my sister with dodgy chicken.

I decided to re-cook the chicken and pretend like nothing had happened… after all, Alex had shown on more than one occasion that she had the stomach to handle such food based afflictions. Amazingly she ate the other half, and after a big glass of milo for dessert felt fine.

So for those kids reading this that are about to approach cooking of chicken for the first time, make sure you cook it all the way through, I mean siblings can be a pain, but poisoning them definitely isn't the solution.

A postcard I sent out recently about the launch of my new website - I promise next week I'll have a picture actually relating to the entry

Have a great week everyone! ^_^

Batteries

2010-11-14T19:29:00.000-08:00

When you're little, batteries can seem as elusive, extravagant and priceless as gold. Especially when they are in charge of powering the things in your life you value the most. There's no greater disappointment than opening up a new toy and discovering the batteries haven't been included. They weigh a lot too, making the small cases seem even more impressive. Oh and don't even get me started on the ones that have the little button on it so you can check the amount of juice it has left, I think I wasted more battery life digging my grotty little fingernails into the tiny bumps than using it in the actual appliance, proved by the small crescent shaped grooves perpetually dug into them.

It's awful as well when you discover your new toy has more than 2 slots for them, meaning you'll probably only get to play with it twice a year, there's no way your parents are going to keep you supplied with that much battery power for long.

So yes, batteries are like gold, they're expensive, hard to come by and look amazing incased in the right cocoon of appealing accessory. You may feel this is something I discovered whilst reflecting on my youth, but you would be wrong. I knew it from a very young age, it was after one particular day, the day my casio keyboard died. I may have mentioned that until I started playing the trumpet I wasn't an impressively musical child. My abilities reached as far as being able to mimic the chipmunks in song and short but high energy performances on air guitar. Performances that looked more like I was holding an imaginary stick that I would strum repetitively with a limp hand. Not too impressive. One day however, in a moment of what I can only assume was insanity, my parents gave me a little 2 octave keyboard, with the batteries already inside! I loved that keyboard, played it whenever I could, that is, hit the demo track (wake me up before you go go) and let my little fingers fly. I played in my bedroom, put on concerts, played on the stairs, in the car on the… you get the idea. One day, after having noticed the light on the far right side flickering, it stopped mid octave slide. I couldn't believe it, apologizing to my imaginary audience members I tried desperately to turn it back on, sliding the power switch back and forth, wiggling the batteries, swapping them around. Nothing worked. Head down and keyboard tucked lovingly under my arm I headed to my parents den ala Matilda appealing to the Wormwoods for a book. "What do you need a book for??" "To reeeaaad"

Luckily my parents weren't as cruel, they had however had enough of my demo track and sighted short funds for a reason to wait for my next round of batteries. I was crushed. No longer able to play the track, I would sit at the keyboard pretending it was on and closed my ears to the thud of my fingers pressing the darkened keys. It was a sad day, a sad week, a sad month… this went on until finally, my dad couldn't handle it anymore and in a moment of weakness he came home with a fresh set of shining new energizer batteries and threw them on my bed. "There you go Lesbes, don't use them all at once" I couldn't believe it, I hugged the plastic case for 2 seconds before attacking it's cardboard back with scissors like a starved child trying to get to food. Carefully pulling them out one at a time a feeling the weight in my hands I placed them into the back of the piano. When the last of the 6 batteries had been correctly slotted into place and the back was clipped in I flipped it round and tentatively slid the power switch to on. SUCCESS! The light went on as if the power had never left, next came the demo track - accompanied by a groan from the next room.

I remembered it like it was yesterday, starting with the imaginary chords then to the slide, rounding it up with some good ol' fashioned honky tonk (slapping as many keys as I could). I remember then taking it over the the steps to the second story which had been conveniently placed over the front door, slotting my legs through the gaps and waiting with bated breath for my step mum to come home. I've never seen someone get more of a shock in my life as I heard her keys in the door and pressed the demo at full volume, she shrieked looking around wondering how the dreaded music had made a come back only to see dads sorry face in the hall way. "She just looked so sad"… Yes children, never underestimate the value of a good pout. So to end, remember that even when the bright lights of tiffanies beckon there's always the electronics isle in woolworths that can mean just as much.

I'm Ok... Really!

2010-11-01T15:07:00.000-07:00

It's funny what you inherit from your parents. Round eyes, a nose that points up, earlobes that attach to your neck. Parent/child similarities often consist of a long lists of physical attributes and behaviors acquaintances love to comment on. I'm not talking about when your a kid either, in fact often you settle into them. After 23 years of suspicion over my origin (I've mentioned my pasty complexion amongst a family of tanned) I'm just starting to notice how much I'm beginning to look like my mum. It's nice in a lot of ways, like finding a group of people you have something in common with, knowing you belong somewhere, not to mention a topic of conversation with relatives and family friends you never see and have nothing to say to. This sense of kinship and implied conception however can come at a price. Sure I got my dads sense of humor, both their artistic inclinations and my mums fierce sense of independence but I also got my dad's lack of physical prowess, their combined short stature and my mums weird pertinacity to attract strange people. Most importantly I've inherited a curse from the family that means no matter where I go or what I do it's almost impossible to stay anonymous. Take the other night for example. I hadn't seen my boyfriend in a while and choosing the middle of the week to rendezvous we headed to the movies in Bondi for the 25th anniversary of "Back to the future".

I'd arrived late thanks to Sydney peak hour traffic and managed to settle in my seat just in time for the pre show festivities. So far so good, a late arrival had not spoiled my quest to remain one of the crowd. I cuddled up to my boyfriend and we laughed as we watched self professed BTTF nerds excitedly answer trivia questions in exchange for DVD's or Blue Ray's generously sponsored by Universal. Not knowing the world well enough I hadn't made a fool of myself answering a question wrong, or tripping down the aisle in an attempted to collect my prize. It's safe to say at this point I was feeling confident - I had gone a whole day of relative anonymity. Then, disaster struck. Relaxing further into my seat, unaware of impending doom I looked on as the host announced he was sadly out of trivia questions and would now resort to throwing DVD's into the audience… my muscles tensed… this sounded like trouble. After a brief pause as he collected himself and placed valuables at a safe distance, he picked up the box and taking on the persona of a trained Ultimate Frisbee sportsmen begun flinging them carelessly into the audience. Men dived into the aisles attempting to catch them, laughing and holding their prizes in triumph. My gut told me this gayety wouldn't last. Suddenly I noticed the host turn to face our direction, he still had some left. Eye's wide I watched as he flung one into the front, then another - wait it was a trick shot, it went spiraling in the other direction. Surely that was it, there couldn't be anymore. I waited, breath caught in my throat.

To my horror there was one more. A shiny beacon of hope for everyone, a weapon of mass destruction for me. With a glint in his eye he cocked his arm back and spun his wrist around like a pro cricketer ready to bowl the opposition out. All four discs of extra features slowly spun towards me, I couldn't move, A hand shot up deflecting the blow only to strengthen it's arc as it came towards me. There was nothing I could do, bracing myself for impact I shut my eye's, too slow to lift my hands in time. BANG, the corner of the heavy plastic penetrated my glasses and went straight into my eye. I was down, withering in agony in the seat as tears sprung to my eyes. I could hear whispers of concern and disbelief spread through the cinema like an air born pathogen. With that one blow, I had become famous. The host called up guiltily to see whether I was alright (contemplating whether he had time to run out of the cinema before police were called) unable to open my eye and embarrassed for my tear streaked face I buried my head in the my lap and raised two feeble thumbs up to the crowd hoping it would communicate that I was indeed going to live and would appreciate it if the people up the back would turn of the lights so I could continue to cry in privacy. At the end of the film as we walked out I saw people looking around for my exit, whispering excitedly as though it was the highlight of their night… It probably was.

We met some of my boyfriends friends and looked on as they realized I was "the DVD girl". That my friends is the story of my life. I'm perpetually The ________ (insert word of your choosing) Girl". So if your ever anywhere you see someone getting attention for something beyond their control, it's probably me, and know that I would appreciate you going back to you business and letting me continue with mine in private.

Thank you

Lesley

ALSO HAPPY (BELATED) HALLOWEEN

Wait, you want to know about me?

2010-10-09T16:20:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone

I know it's been a while. I promise to have a proper entry for you up here soon, in the meantime though I wanted to tell you about an interview I got to do with the fantastic Ziggy Nixon.

It's my first ever and probably only ever interview so I'd love for you all the check it out. Ziggy really did his homework for the questions, which means after reading it you may know more about me than my parents, but I tried to make the answers as fun to read as I could ^_^

Interview

Did you fall in?

2010-09-25T05:23:00.000-07:00

As we may have previously established I just happen to be a bathroom reader - yes that's right, I'm one of a small but very dedicated group known fondly as the bathroom readers institute, they even have books specially made for us.

For those of you that like to get in, do your business and get out I can understand why this may be a hard thing to understand. "Why sit there in your own stink"? I can hear you saying. Your probably the same person that won't take baths, usually for the same reason "I refuse to sit in my own filth". Well I'm sorry to say I am the complete opposite, I'm not saying I fantasize about siting in stink or filth but there are things I like to take my time with.

Alright, so that was probably more information than I should have shared so lets move on. The point is I spent time on the toilet, something you need to know to understand the rest of this story.

It was on a rare night out to our local chinese restaurant that after a large water and more than my fare share of rice ships I felt the urge and excused myself accordingly. Locking myself in I was surprisingly quick to do what I needed and was back at the door within a few minutes. To my horror, the lock wouldn't budge.

I could immediately feel the stall shrink to half its size as I jiggled the lock furiously back and forth. Folding my shirt around my hand I tried again, using all my strength. I started to sweat. "Help" I called feebly trying the lock again. I looked up hoping to see a gap between the sides of the stall and ceiling, enough to climb over. It was a solid wall, I was completely closed in. Fighting back tears I sat on the floor knocking on the door at sporadic intervals hoping someone would hear me.

Minutes ticked away and no one raised the alarm basing assumptions on my history of lengthy bathroom visits. As my family ate and talked I felt more alone in the stall thoughts of abandonment swirling in my head.

20 minutes later mum had finally noticed my absence. I remained on the cold floor, my tummy growling as thoughts turned to the dishes that were now being served and what I'd have to eat if I was forced to stay in the stall forever.

Just as I lost hope I heard a faint knock on the door."Lesley, are you ok in there" relief coursed through my body as I sprung up and called through the door "I'm locked in mum, help me". After what mum assures me was not a snigger I heard her fumble with the lock, swearing under her breath. "Hang on Les, I'll get you out". I waited for what felt like ages as I heard all sorts of strange sounds emanating from outside the door. All of a sudden the lock gave a jerk and gave way as the door was wrenched open.

There stood mum, a knife in one hand and the lock in the other. I fell into her arms close to tears and she led me back out to the table, pausing once to hand a waitress the lock saying something about the fact it may belong to them.

We finished our mongolian beef and fried rice then left and never returned. So my advice for this week is simple, when going to a public toilet - always look for your emergency exists and have a knife handy, because you never know when your visit could turn into a stay.

Dedicated to other bathroom readers ^_^

Stronger than blood

2010-09-13T05:34:00.000-07:00

SISTER

Throughout my life you've always been

My bestest friend and enemy

We've played, done trades and shared it all

You've taught me more than I recall

We think the same and look it too

When I got sick it passed to you

I know your secrets

and you know mine

All your freckles

Every laugh line

I know what you'd say

and what you'd do

I know you so well

I can mimic you

There's things in life

that go unsaid

so I thought I'd write them down instead

I love you more than you could know

no matter what you do

or where you go

I'm always here

my little one

Proud of everything

you've been and done

Down in the Deep

2010-09-05T05:24:00.000-07:00

THE SEA

The waters deep

The sea bed far

bellow the waves

that crash afar

The light filtered

like christmas lights

that twinkle shyly through the night

I feel so free

yet all around

the waters press

as I've been bound

I listen hard

for sounds that might

allude to signs of other life

Instead the only sound I hear

a distant humming in my ears

Then in the corner of my eye

a flash of colour shoots right by

But now the breath

that once I took

is fading fast

no time to look

I reach above and kick bellow

until I see the surface glow

I break right through

then dive back down

There still much more

that must be found

Expect a few more poems over the next few weeks... I recently found my year 9 journal and some of them aren't half bad ^_^

Hope you all had a fantastic weekend and the dads of Australia had a great fathers day!

Afternoon activities

2010-08-30T05:01:00.000-07:00

Didn't quite make it within the week, but I'd say one day late isn't too bad :)

Don't get me wrong, being raised primarily by a single lawyer mother who spent years fighting for a spot in the industry, gave me a strong understanding of women's rights and the occasional tendency to act on blind feminist rage, but even I know that there are some things girls can not, and should not do. I take you now, to a sunny afternoon after school, and a little too much Milo, to when my sister and I discovered one such activity.

I blame the school , we had been learning japanese that term and had been recently shown a video on Sumo wrestling, that (coupled with a few videos on male bonding) had made us aware of the chest bump ritual. An action commonly seen amongst pro sports jocks, large territorial animals and people that are completely off their head. It involves two individuals running towards each other, leaping in the air with chests out, and slamming their torso's into one another to then fall back hopefully in a stance position. This can then be followed by a celebratory high five.... or a trip to the emergency ward.

Well blame it on the fresh air, or too much sugar, Alex and I decided to give it a go. Now before you make assumptions I would just like to point out that we are not completely stupid, we did decide to have a practice run with pillows. We started by both holding a pillow against our chest, learning quickly that it was important to full commitment to the act, otherwise the result was a mess of arms and legs. Then, similar to a game of musical chairs, we threw a pillow away and continued. This was met with mild success, we were fast learners, so bracing ourselves, we moved onto faze three.

Having discarded both pillows and taken a few more steps apart to insure maximum run up potential, we counted down to impact. THREE. TWO. ONE. We were of, running at full tilt, screaming like men on helium, getting closer with every second. counting down to impact, we were close enough to touch, to hug. insert screeching sound here. We chickened out moments before impact. We started laughing, at this point I'm not sure if it was at the fact we bailed or the absurdness of the situation. Which ever it was it did not deter us, and after a good laugh we decided to try again, pinky swearing our allegiance to the cause.

One, Two, Three, we took steps back, forever keeping eye contact. This time we were ready, visualizing the pillows, we counted down. THREE. TWO.....Two, and a half.. two and three quuuuarters... two and.... we had run out of fractions, there was nothing for it RUN we did... closer, and closer, our feet pounded the lounge room floor, one second till impact, I could see the beads of seat on her face, half a second.. there was nothing for it, I shut my eye's and braced myself. NOW leaping into the air we slammed into each other with enough force to knock down a small elephant. I felt my bones shatter, and my boobs become concave. I fell to the floor dazed and sore, trying to breath. Eye's closed and lying still on the floor I called out to her... "Alex.... you dead"?

"No", came a small reply... "but I think my boobs are".

So my female readers, I write this as a cautionary tale. Sure, your all strong, intelligent and independent women who don't need men to complete you. But the next time a guy tells you that women can't do everything men can do, stop, think about Alex and I, and tell him honestly, Your right... we have boobs.

Until next week... or later this week really ^_^

TITANIC

2010-08-14T02:58:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, sorry this comes so late, its been absolutely hec.. ok I'm going to stop myself there, there's really no excuse for how lazy I've been with the blog. But lets move on, shoulda, coulda woulda and I'm gonna right now.

So I chose this story for a couple of reasons. One, its a bit of a funny one which I thought would be fun to read and two, the most recent drawing I did was based on the sea so I can cheat and use it (just between you and me).

little side note - my fingers are flying over the keys, its funny, I always seem to dread writing, putting it of till the last minute, only to re-discover how much I like doing it everytime I begin again.

Now for the story, I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before about the summers I would spend in the country in Lemon tree with my mums family. For those new comers though (First of, Welcome) just a little back story, my mum grew up with her family in Lemon tree, a rough but friendly little town that still has a few dirt roads, a quant Marina my granddad actually owned at one stage and was proud to receive their first helicopter pad the year before last. We'd usually stay for a couple of weeks (longer if we were successful in begging mum to go home without us) at our Auntie's house who'd spoil us rotten as the two girls she always wished she'd had. Instead she married a 6 foot 7 Train engineer and had two equally tall boys that would rather lick a toilet seat than do anything remotely girly.

So for a few weeks out of every year we'd shed our shoes, don a hat and spend the days riding, playing, watching tv (something that was banned at home) eating a ridiculous amount of two minute noodles and being treated like absolute princesses. If your starting to imagine a heaven like place full of no worries, no responsibilities and constant fun, you wouldn't be far off Lemon tree. In fact on arrival, after an attempt to uphold the structured routine we'd lived with through the year or asking if we were allowed a treat, we'd get "Your not in Sydney anymore, remember it's Lemon tree, you can do what ever you want - no worries" Like our own personal "hakuna matata"

I'll go into more on another entry but to round this up I'll tell you about one of our favourite games. Down on the beach, the one a minutes walk from the house we found an old tinny (little row boat) that was badly beaten. Feeling as though we'd just discovered buried treasure we decided to adopt it as our own. Now before you start to relay a sweet little montage of us fixing the boat up ala the birth of Chitty Chitty bang bang and other such nostalgic uplifting films, we instead flipped it over, grabbed some sticks and beat the boat to death. Once it had a few more holes in it (and some small dents curtesy of my and my sisters attempts) we dragged it out to the middle of the bay, climbed in... and sank it.

Right now your probably horrified, but before you file me away under delinquent hear the rest. After singing the theme tune to Titanic and letting the boat sink to the bottom (an act that took about 2 minutes) we then spent the next 2 hours pulling it from the depths and dragging it back to shore... We repeated this process roughly 4 times that day until my auntie called us in to tea. The next day, you guessed it, we began again... in fact that boat was rescued more times in the week than all the boats in the marina from the last 20 years put together. We loved that boat more than it had ever been loved, because it wasn't just a little tinny to us, it was adventure and imagination in its purest form... and that was what Lemon Tree was all about.

Hakuna Matata everyone ^_^

Green Thumb

2010-07-06T01:53:00.000-07:00

Green Thumb

Back in year 10 Science all students had to complete what the teachers fondly dubbed a "student research project". As if it was the first time any of us had done the research for a project ourselves. Basically the premise was to hypothesize and devise your own experiment, record the results and present your findings. The mark would go toward your final grade and you were thus one step closer to passing year 10 and moving onto becoming a senior, that or dropping out and starting a trade.

Well with all the confidence of a professional landscaper I decided I would finally break out the personalised gardening set I had received from my aunty a few christmases ago and put it to good use (an addition to my christmas list after seeing a troll in central park and imaging I had magical powers in my thumb that could somehow grow plants). My experiment was to see whether talking to plants helped them grow.

My idea was to plant the same type of seeds in 5 different pot plants keeping all variables like sun exposure, water and care the same but for 20 minutes each day I would choose a different form of verbal encouragement (or torture depending on your outlook) and see which one worked the best.. that is, which plant grew the fastest. The 5 methods of stimulation were

1. Watching TV

2. offering all sorts of encouragement

3. Insulting it

4. Playing music

5. and ignoring the last.

So right about now your wondering why I'm telling you this story.. its basically like this, can you imagine walking into our house at 4 to find the tv turned on and a lone pot plant sitting in front of it? Weirdnes abounds when you walk further in to see another casually listening to Mozart's concerto in E minor. If this hasn't already caused you to quickly turn around and head back out the door you walk to the patio only to discover a young girl lovingly caressing a pot and whispering compliments into its dirt and another further down the garden screaming insults such as "you dirty plant, you'll never grow to anything, why don't you just crawl up and die!!"

Its no wonder the neighbours thought we were crazy!

But it did make for great stress relief as both my mum and sister would also have a go. Unfortunately I failed the project as I had no results to record. None of the plants made it past seed stage which I concluded was not the talking (and screaming) but due in fact to my utter lack of gardening ability.

More later in the week - hope you all had a fantastic long weekend ^_^

I don't tan, I burn

2010-06-21T23:16:00.000-07:00

Sorry I've been so absent here. I've been finishing some commissions for a friend that took me longer than anticipated. It was really great to be pushed out of my comfort zone though and I'm pretty happy with how they came out ^_^

Moving on, it's getting into summer now and I'm again being made painfully aware that I was born for much colder climates.. Antarctica perhaps... So to celebrate the completion of my first major commission and to welcome summer (even if its somewhat begrudgingly) I whipped this one up for you guys tonight.

I'm white. I mean, I'm really white. When taking photos I need to be constantly aware of the skin tones around me in order to ensure I don't freak out the camera's white meter settings.

Fact - when told that 15+ is better than nothing, I'm forced to respond with - It IS nothing.

Dark people don't understand. After a spell in the UV rays that ball of burning gasses above emits they merely frown at their darker complexion, frustrated at their "unsightly" tan lines. Meanwhile I'm being rushed to hospital with second degree burns and sun stroke, needing help later to remove the sheets of skin slowly peeling away from my body.

Your a classic beauty, my mum would try reassuring me as I'd look enviously on my sister frolicking merrily in her Olive skin and bikini while I sat in the sand covered in sea shoes, boardies, a rashie, sun hat with a flap on the back and bright pink zinc stripes down my nose and cheeks resembling a sort of weird girly war paint.

Classic beauty, you mean from the time they would put poison on their face to strip away layers of skin to reveal the pasty complexion expected of people that are too wealthy to ever venture into the sun.

Thanks mum.

Don't get me wrong, I've grown to like my colouring, and years of constant burning and peeling has yielded a slightly jaundice colour I fondly refer to as my 23 year tan. There's also been times of amusement. At about 6 or 7 mum had decided to start buying us nighties instead of the flannel we'd been picking from Target. Well, on more than one occasion when asking mum for a glass of water in the middle of the night I'd scare the living shit out of her as I floated silently into the room glowing white with my white laced nightie blowing eerily in the breeze. (not surprisingly it was back the the flannel the next year).

And although I'm still not entirely sure how I came to be the white sheep of the family in a collection of Mediterranean looking people I wouldn't want it any different. After all with the threat of Skin Cancer, the popularity of the milkybar kid and the invention of 90+ suncream.. White skin is on its way back in ^_^

Well, I can dream can't I

*Note

Boardie - Board Shorts

Rashie - a water proof shirt

Bonjour ^_^

2010-06-09T11:06:00.000-07:00

So as some of you know (unless your new to the blog - in that case, Welcome! ^_^), the other week I found myself biking through the insanely gorgeous countryside of Southern France. Caught in a postcard, we travelled around 30 to 40k's a day, through glades and corn fields, past towering historic Chateau's (French for castle), up mountains (and down, fortunately) as well as under overgrown canapies of fern trees . I was shouted the trip by my mum and her partner and was honestly counting my blessings every day - ok so maybe not when slugging up the 4k mountains... but getting to the top elation returned :)

That part of the country is known for its beautiful scenery - honestly you can not take a bad photo - and amazing gastronomic flair! I'm sure it has something to do with using all their own produce, there were so many times we'd catch the chef ducking out the back door into the garden and picking the vegetables and herbs that would accompany our meals.

It was one of the most amazing trips I've ever been on! two of the images I'm sharing with you guys are straight sketching from what I saw around me - the other is inspired by the ducks we saw. If you've never been you may be unaware that French ducks are freakishly huge.. I'm not entirely convinced they're ducks at all actually, more likely some type of goose or turkey and the name was lost in translation - they are also incredibly loud and travel in packs of about a hundred. Force fed corn (which is strangely unavailable for hunan consumption) they waddle around squaking at you waiting to be made into delicious confit de canard or a very popular starter called Foi gras (pronounced more like fogwah).

Hope you guys like them, and at the risk of sounding like the poster child for Southern France, if you get a chance I seriously recommend going ^_^

Hope you all have a fantastic week!

EXTRA EXTRA!!

2010-06-03T01:42:00.000-07:00

Hey gang - I'm back from France, what a great holiday! Delicious food, Beautiful scenery and the best company ^_^ Now its straight back to developing my portfolio and uploading plenty of new stories for you guys, can't wait to hear your thoughts and what you've all been up to! :D

Bon Voyage ^_^

2010-05-16T09:22:00.000-07:00

Just a quick one before I leave for France (I'll be gone for two weeks). A little sneak peek of my character for one of the children's books I'm working on. The title is "I hate Bowties" and is about a little boy discovering why its bad to say hate. When I get back I'll catch up on the entries I missed and have plenty of new stories for you guys!

Hope you all have a fantastic two weeks ^_^

Also he doesn't have a name yet - suggestions are welcome :)

Growth spurt

2010-05-09T02:14:00.000-07:00

I was always the shortest in the class, a fact made plain by the way my school skirt (the smallest they could find) had to be tied around my chest and still reached my ankles. In school photos I was always in the same spot, down the front and at the far right end. Something my mum extremely enjoyed as quote, she was "always able to find me". It got to the stage were the photographers let me sit there without checking if I'd grown, I offered a solitary nod and simply sat myself in the chair while everyone else compared heights in a frenzy of back to back motions.

I still remember the day it all changed. It was high-school, year 9, repeating a well formed ritual I made my way to the back of the line (lines had to be formed from tallest to shortest) for the photo. I stood there in a daze, pondering the word they'd make us smile with when I suddenly realised, I could see over the person in front of me. I stood there for a few more seconds attempting to blink away what I thought was a mirage, but sure enough, I was looking at someone smaller than me. Politely taping her on the shoulder I made my way in front... but their again I encountered the same strange phenomena. I stepped away from the line attempting to re-group and began to make my way further down. With each new girl came a boost to my confidence, it was a dream, surely I couldn't be taller than this many people.

As I walked on girls began to call out at me "Hey Lesley, where are you going? You should be at the back of the line!" but there taunts did no good, the facts were plain and after a quick back to back the news of my sudden growth spurt spread quickly down the line. "Hey can you believe, Lesley grew! No way, she can't be taller than me?" Finally I reached a point of commonality and sidled into the line behind a girl I knew. I felt a pat on the back and turned to see a smiling face a word of warm welcome.

I had made it, the fabled teenage growth spurt fairy had arrived over night and I was in!

I still have the photo tucked away in my room, my first foray into the third row, right in the center, the look on my face closely resembling the type of elation seen only on athletes after winning gold medals. The first time in my life that I felt I had really achieved something special, all I had to do now was loose my baby teeth, grow some boobs and I would be a real young lady, of course with my slow rate of the development I had to wait a while, but as they say.. all good things take time.

So - have any photos stories? or stories of Late development? As always I'd love to hear them! ^_^

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY to all the mums out there!

Style update!

2010-05-05T01:42:00.000-07:00

On the odd chance anyone was worried, never fear, the story of the week is on its way. In the meantime however, I wanted to put this up as a celebration that I really think I have my colouring style down pat for the moment. Obviously I'm aware it will probably develop (hopefully for the better) but for the meantime I'm really happy with it ^_^

Hope your all having an awesome week! ^_^

Cloud chaser

2010-04-25T01:00:00.000-07:00

Ok so I know its cheating but I thought I'd write a poem instead this time ^_^

Sitting Alone and wondering why

The clouds can drift so idly by

They don't care at all, for whats down bellow

Instead they roll across the sky

Its times like this I try and find

A reason for my sitting time

The time I take out of my day

for thoughts to drift so far away

Just a Word

But asks so much

Just an answer

That means so much

Just a word

You hear too much

Too hard to answer

so you gave up

So here I am, you still feel near

I look to see your still not here

I turn instead towards the sky

to envy clouds drifting idly by