Do you like my hat?

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

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!

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. 

More camp stories on their way later… 

But first a note about my new Facebook page! 

if you follow the link bellow you are on your way to a cool desktop background ^_^ 

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Striped-Designs/158890500832166

All you need to do is click the link, press "like"  on the page and leave a comment with why you're following and your email address - then voila! desktop background!! 

Kiss and Catch

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...

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

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

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