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.

We Dress Up Like Snowmen

Our Vintage & Retro Fashion sale last weekend was such an overwhelming success that I've almost been rendered speechless. Almost. On Saturday, I didn't get a pee break until 4pm because we were just that busy. The little room had a really amazing atmosphere and almost everyone who walked in, walked out clutching an absolute bargain between their little fingers. I want to say a big sloppy thank you to Two Thousand for featuring us again and making us out to be much cooler than we actually are. Hah! JUST KIDDING. We really are that cool. Not so sure about the 'young' bit though (I'm looking at you, Bobby). And, of course, an even bigger thank you to everyone who came. It wouldn't have been the same without you. Seriously, we've tried it sans people before and it just doesn't work. Our next one's on the 10th and 11th of October (we're trying out the whole 'second weekend of every month thing') so come along and hopefully, together, we can make it even bigger, better and bloody more brilliant than the last one.

Sunday Girl

I GOT A - much needed - HAIR CUT! Oh, and I went blond slash orange. I'm kind of loving it. Also, my brilliant new housemate Dom gifted me with these wonderful glasses because they're too big for him. And because I'm awesome. But mainly because they're too big for him (I have a MASSIVE head - in both senses of the phrase). Exciting news, yes? We're mid-markets so I'll make this a brief post. Given my penchant for long paragraphs that don't say all that much, it's the best kind of post really, isn't it?

P.S. Yes, that's a tie dye leather skirt.

Degrassi Junior High

Wow. I just deleted a whole post and I don't even know how. And you know what? I could Control Z but I think it's a sign. It's definitely a sign. I'm not in the right state of mind to be blogging, especially about that time I thought I was a werewolf. It's raining, cold, grey as all hell, I'm kind of grumpy and I'm pretty sure I just called Bobby the c word because he didn't peel the garlic properly. It might (but probably doesn't) have something to do with the fact that I'm still a little hungover from Saturday's trio of parties, one of which had a bar tab and another of which was within stair-climbing distance of my place in which sat, eagerly awaiting my frequent visits, a large bottle of vodka and a bag of goon. Side note: Did you know that they don't even say goon in England? They call it 'boxed wine'. Doesn't that just make it sound so much more classy than it actually is? Goon doesn't deserve class. Take down the streamers and show it for what it is: Horrible, egg containing, preservative ridden, acrid tasting goon. And it's WONDERFUL. So much so that it deserves capitals. Much like the third party of my Saturday evening, which was, from what I can remember, pretty bloody awesome. Admittedly, I spent most of my evening speaking to complete strangers (albeit, apart from one odd, incredibly-keen-to-give-out-entirely-unrequested-autographs fellow, absolutely lovely strangers) rambling on to them about the beauty of vintage and retro clothes and encouraging, neigh, insisting that they drop along to my market this weekend because basically, it's going to be one big friendly-on-the-pocket party. I NETWORKED, baby. Not sure how true to the word 'party' the event's actually going to be; we'll be sellin' poppas of the fruity kind not the sniffable kind and it'll be during daylight hours only so, in all honesty, it's probably going to be a lot more low-key/kid friendly than I might have made out. If you do happen to turn up really drunk however, I promise to show you to the toilet where you'll be more than welcome to spew your guts up. Because that's just the kind of person I am: Accommodating.

Of course, last Saturday's party was themed (because all the best ones are), and the theme was Degrassi Junior High. Whilst the actual number of people dressed up was rather low, it was great if only for the simple reason that I had an excuse to go all eighties. Again.

I should add that the night was in celebration of the amazing Miss Marissa Ziesing (above), whose birthday it was. I hope you had a suitably brilliant evening, Marissa. I'm pretty sure I forgot to say 'Happy Birthday' on the night. I'm remarkably talented at things like that. I do hope that announcing it publicly, to the billions of readers of my blog (hah!), makes up for that tiny nugget of forgetfulness.



Fashion Launches Rocket Launches (above) played a set in the early evening. Unfortunately, we missed the better half of it (or what I'd hope, all things considered, was the better half) so I'll reserve my criticism for another time. In their own right, they're each very talented musicians.


See? Networking.

Where Do The Children Play?

Germany has the best playgrounds in the world. Okay, so I haven't exactly researched this fact very well, and being half-German I'm probably more than a little biased but I'll be damned if I didn't have the most fun childishly skipping, swinging and sliding since, well, being a child.

An Asterix and Obelix playground in Bad Vilbel, Frankfurt.

By the Wasserturm in Berlin.

A giant flying fox in Tiergarten, Berlin.