Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)

Happy Easter. Have an eggcellent long weekend. Forgive my lack of wit, I've spent too long in front of the computer today. I think it's about time I put on my bunny ears and take an afternoon nap. That way, I'll be celebrating the rising of the first zombie and getting some much needed rest at the same time. That's multitasking at its finest, if I do say so myself.

Image from Jalouse Magazine, September, 2009.

Look What the Cat Dragged In.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think this might be a contender for sweetest dress in the whole world ever. It's a cat! And it's on her dress!

Image courtesy of the aptly named website All The Pretty Birds.

Bird On A Wire

Oh, hi there... buster. No, don't be silly. Of course I didn't forget about you. What an absurd accusation. Hey, don't raise your voice at me! In fact, if anything, I should be the one getting angry at you for doubting my commitment to you, my usually-so-lovely-and-forgiving-readers. Okay. Fine. You're right. I've just been a little slow on the updates, that's all. Hell, I've been really bloody busy, you know? With what? Well... lotsa stuff. Important stuff. Yes, as I've said to Bobby many a time when we've been running late and he's trying woo me out of the house with cookies and the promise of absurd amounts of alcohol, feeding Rainbow Lorikeets IS important and if I don't feed them at least three times a day they WILL die. So it's a good thing I do, isn't it?

Also? You probably shouldn't have got me started on the Rainbow Lorikeets because I have approximately eight billion photos of them and have bored my housemates for approximately four thousand hours with stories of their antics. You know they were spinning around on the washing line the other day? And then, earlier this week, one even flew into my room and sat on my bed. I know, right?

But I have been doing other things too. Like looking for a new housemate. Again. And yoga. Lots of yoga. I'll let you see my yoga gear if you're nice enough. Though, let's just say that I wouldn't look at all out of place with this lot:

I've been eating coconuts, too. And sewing. Shortening hems, taking in dresses, hacking off T-shirts, patching holes, changing threads just for the hell of it, sewing together pieces of scrap to make strange looking animals and generally making a complete mess of the living room. Hey! Speaking of which, check out my new sewing table. It set me back a whole $5 from the charity shop downstairs.

And if, after all that, you're still not entirely convinced of my blog directed diligence, I'll have you know that I taught myself how to make a GIF, just for this post. Yep, it took some serious skill - that was high tech stuff.

Two Doors Down

There's a middle ground - in the most literal sense - between two doors down and Parramatta (comparable to Walthamstow in London) that a venue/place of interest has to hit for me to be, well, actually interested. Too far and it's just a plain ol' pain. Particularly when you have no car, license, money or access to a mode of transport that isn't public, expensive and unreliable. Too close though, and it simply requires too little effort; why, it would be silly to apply my organisational skills to arranging a trip downstairs, right? Before meandering down to said park/warehouse/sexpot, I see no reason I shouldn't wash my hair, pet my cat, have another go of beating B-Boy in Tetris Blast on my very eighties Gameboy, play with the (stuffed) squirrel sitting on my bed, stare at the photo I had taken of me and an (wholly alive) owl for a good twenty minutes and listen to that new Adam Green album. Twice. But then suddenly it's Midnight and I haven't left the house. With the half-hearted promise that I'll go tomorrow or the next week or perhaps the Friday after instead, the cycle repeats itself and, before I know it, it's been two years and it's moved or gone or been overrun by zombies. This happens to me on a semi regular basis. Last month however, I decided enough was enough and I was going to get my arse over to the Chinese Garden of Friendship before an asteroid hits it or something similarly unlikely yet very probable happens. I wholly recommend you do the same. It's really kind of amazing.

Here's me looking happy (and a little smug - if I read my expression correctly) that I successfully tore myself away from my pet squirrel/owl/cat to visit the Chinese Gardens. To clarify: I *am* referring to my happy smile, not the regrettable bulge in my pants, which is due to my bulky camera. It's true, I swear.

Next on my list of places to go that are just too darn close for comfort? The karaoke bar across the street, suitably named Ding Dong Dang - a name which is also apparently (I would guess) an homage to The Wizard of Oz which can only be a good sign - and High Tea, an intimate, RSVP only live music night which takes place every second Thursday in nearby warehouse.

Fat Bottomed Girls.

Last week I was doing some research (okay, I was mindlessly scrolling my Newsfeed on the ol' Facebook), when I came across a competition run by Side Street Sydney in which Caitlin Shearer prints were being given away. Admittedly, I had never heard of Miss Shearer but on scrolling through the interview with her - in which there were a number of examples of her work (one of which is included above) - I quite fell in love with the wistful, melancholy girls of her paintings dressed in pretty cinched things and seamed stockings. The gaping hole in my barely existent art collection made itself more apparent than ever and so within seconds I set upon writing Side Street an email explaining why, exactly, I deserved one of these beautiful prints. No word limit allowed me to babble on in my usual fashion (25 words? Hah! Try 500) and one essay and some eleven days later, I was the proud owner of a beautiful print.

And what made me think I deserved one of Miss Shearer's prints? Well, firstly, Miss Shearer and I seemed to have a number of similarities: I am also a lover of Sofia Coppola, Lula magazine, flower gardens, old movies and the 1950s; we had both exhibited at The Wall, Sydney's finest art based club night (if you can call DJing exhibiting - it is, after all, a glorified exhibiting of one's music collection, right?); she was featured in Vogue Girl Korea, I in Elle Girl Korea; her work was in Frankie, I read Frankie; and, last but certainly not least, I bought my brand spanking new MacBook from David Jones a few weeks ago, which, I realise, isn't quite up there with being featured in the display window of David Jones but both achievements, I would imagine, result in an equal amount of supercilious beaming. Secondly, at the time, my art collection (if you could call it as much) consisted of little else but a bunch of advertisements, posters and advertisements ripped out of old - and not so old - magazines, a drawing my friend Anya did of Bobby, herself and I on a discarded strongneck paper bag (that's a Strongbow longneck - clever, eh? Her cleverness unfortunately, not mine), a few bits picked up from charity shops (including a fish named Billy that sings Annie Lennox) and a wonderful, magical postcard I bought at the Mythic Creatures exhibition currently on at the ANMM that depicts three unicorns frolicking by a magnificent castle in the moonlight. And, whilst the unicorns and their friends were - and still are - certainly amazing, they were living a rather lonely existence. Fortunately, as I predicted, they're infinitely happier now that they have a pretty, plump thighed lady with lips of a temptress to call their friend.

Thank you Side Street Sydney for sending me the print and thank you Miss Shearer for giving these ever intriguing girls lives and, more importantly, fat bottoms. You can see more of Caitlin's work on her blog and get your hands on a print of your own - some for as little as $10 - from her Etsy.

I Forgot

The man and I held another Vintage and Retro sale last weekend and it was a massive bloomin' success. I only failed on one account: I totally forgot to tell all you lovely readers about it - I know, it's an epic fail, isn't it? Best sign up to the newsletter (email me at owlandthegrapes@gmail.com with 'Subscribe' in the subject line) or join our facebook group to ensure this never, ever happens again. Hopefully though, if you're a Sydney kid, you heard about it anyway. We were featured everywhere from uber cool newsletter Two Thousand to independent radio station FBi (or so my friend Guy says). And honestly? It's probably for the best that I didn't tell you because if it had been any more packed on Saturday I think the place would have burst. And then we'd never be able to have another sale again. So really, I did the right thing. Alas, I feel bad so, to make up for my abandonment, I will tell you well in advance (ie now) that the next sale will be on the 12th and 13th of December. If you play on my guilt enough I might even give you a discount on the weekend. Which, given how cheap everything already is, basically means I'm offering to GIVE you a heap of awesome clothes. How can you be angry with me after that? I'll tell you: You can't.

Here are some of the man's photos from the weekend:

Sweetest dog ever. I offered his Mum a swap: Clothes for dog. She wasn't too keen.

It was 7-Eleven Day. This meant free slurpees for everyone. I had two (or maybe it was three?) and then hit a major slurpee low mid afternoon. I'm pretty sure I had the sugar shakes. Amazing.

Millie threatened to jump out the window because someone stepped on her tail. It was pretty traumatising. She's okay now though, thanks for asking.

Batdance

Last Tuesday marked the first birthday of this blog. Check out the first post over here if you don't believe me. And I'm still banging on about the merits of pay-by-the-kilo shopping. Not that much has changed really, has it?

Last Thursday, meanwhile, marked the twenty first birthday of yours truly. Now therein holds some progression. No longer will you see a whiny, drunken and cigarette-puffing Emma collapsing on surprisingly tolerant friend's doorsteps with bleeding legs. Those lovely, lovable friends needn't even give me another thought until 2028, when I will likely have a midlife crisis resulting in similar, if less excusable, antics. Yep, I'm t-w-e-n-t-y-o-n-e. I'm MATURE. Finally, I can legally drink in the US of A, have sex with a porcupine in Japan and drop an exploding shit bomb on John Howard’s doorstep - just for oldtime’s sake.

I watched closely and put on my most threatening face as my very closest friends (some more so in proximity rather than the intimate sense of the phrase - I‘m looking at you, Marissa) marked the 17th September in their diaries/iPhones/blueberries, in preparation of celebrations by way of a themed nighttime picnic on my living room floor. The essential and amazing theme for the night’s escapades was Animal Hybrids. We accomodated for all those wanting to be a lion but were just unable to stop neighing - they came as liorses. And those others that had the purrfect cat ears but really truly oh so much wanted to wear their yellow muu muu? Oh, little camelats, they did have fun. Our living room was their jungle. Get ready for a plethora of photos.

P.S. I totally only recently learnt that I've been pronouncing 'plethora' incorrectly for the better part of my twenty one years. Apparently it's plethora. Not plethora. So... if I use it more than I should, it's because I'm practicing. Plethora. Plethora. See? PROGRESSION.

Bat mask made using some cardboard and the glasses that Dom gave me at our last vintage sale. Bat around the neck from the $2 store.
Top was a donation from my Mum. Bat wings are made out of an umbrella from the op shop. Skirt is an op shop dress all pinned up.
Shoes are old and belt is from a charity shop in England. OH, and my WATCH was a birthday gift from Mr. Bobby. AMAZING.

P.S. If you consider yourself a close friend but didn't receive an invite, more likely than not, it’s because I hate you. Just kidding. Or maybe I’m not? No, really, I am. My lovely house is old and fragile, and wouldn’t have taken the strain of more than the surplus of seven to those who already reside there.