Once upon a time..

To "celebrate" (I'm holding in my tears and suppressing my longing) my one year anniversary since my Europe trip I decided to depress myself with pictures.

Word to the wise.

Whatever you do, don't trust anyone else's sense of aesthetics.

Poor me.

Went to QLD on the weekend for my cousin's wedding (who I hadn't seen for 17 years) and so given the occasion I decided I was going to get my make-up done professionally - I wanted to make a good impression ok?? (see what I did there?).
So anyway, I pre-booked a salon right, got to Brisbane, met my beautician (told her my dress was cream and told her I was going for the natural look with emphasis on the eyes - she seemed all for it), got taken out to the beauty rooms, seated, head back, eyes closed, all seemed well.

We talked. She painted. I liked her. She finished.

Look, I don't like to judge but it seemed to me after what I was shown as a finished product, that she was off her rocker, or maybe there's some new age definition of "natural", or maybe she was just having me on and was going to fix it before letting me out in public.. but she didn't.

I didn't take a picture, I thought about it but I decided I didn't want any one to see me like that.. not even for laughs..so you'll have to use your imagination.

I looked like an A-grade transvestite. My foundation was caked on, she'd used gold eyeshadow near my brow bone and under my eyes with dark brown eyeshadow on the lid and crease, flicking the corners up towards my eyebrow (you know, reserved for the vampire look), no eyeliner, the tiniest amount of mascara. My cheekbones were sharply "highlighted" with an earthy red blush. As she was doing my lips she was telling me she would put a stain on under the lipstick so that when I ate I would still have a bit of colour and wouldn't look too pale - I was expecting a soft pink or something. It almost looked black.

I almost gagged at the sight of myself. I couldn't believe she was for real.

I couldn't complain cos I liked her and I'd feel bad but it was so NOT what I was after. I barely managed an eyebrow raise and a "cool". Apparently she loved it.

Paid $65 for that only to wipe it off and go straight to the chemist for supplies to fix it.

Disaster. Never again.

Today's just one of them days - dressing gown, peppermint tea and Sade.

Listening to Sade always gives me a stab of nostalgia for the restaurant in Paris we went to... probably not doing the best for my spirits right now.

Concentration = zero.. you know why? YOU KNOW WHY??

Brother is going to Germany tomorrow.. and then Israel... I'm furious. Mostly because I'm jealous.

What I wouldn't give....

Diary of a tourist 8/10/2010

So I was cleaning my room last night (pause for applause) and I found the diary that I attempted to use whilst I was overseas. Admittedly it only lasted a couple of days (typical me behaviour) but I thought I would maybe share the first entry with y'all - just so you can scahdenfreude at my futile attempt to express the inner workings of my all-over-the-place mind:

"Wake up, it's a beautiful morning" emits through the little plastic sound holes of my earphones as I sit in Hong Kong waiting for my transit flight. Daylight struggles through the miserable looking clouds and tinted windows of the airport at 7am - I'm not exactly sure The Drums is entirely appropriate for this moment. Nevertheless, despite the gloomy weather that has promised itself to Hong Kong, after 9 hours of being cooped up in pretty much a 30cm radius and my sleeping travel companions for riveting conversation, I'm grateful for the stop, if only to freshen up and stretch.

How shall I sum up the last 9 hours? Four movies started and rejected (I'm a hard woman to please), two toilet trips, five attempts at catching shut eye, no spare vegan or even vegetarian meals (feeling peculiar movements in my stomach) and absolutely no success at getting semi comfortable.

And that's only one third of the flight over.. But hey, who am I to complain?

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So I'm back. Boredom  has once again set in during the flight from Hong Kong to London. After finally finishing a movie (the selection is something shocking), a chapter or two of lady Chatterley's Confession and finally a bit of a snooze, I find myself staring at voluminous, fluffy, pure white clouds (yes I scored the window seat). Earphones back in, waiting for the perfect song to make this the perfect moment. I'm so at peace.

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Flying over deserts now, still somewhere in Asia, the flight information on the little screen in front of me promises we're close to Xining, heading in the direction of Delhi, 8.5 hours still to go till London. Errrrrh!

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FINALLY, in London, only 3 more hours of flying left to get to Barcelona.

You're feet swell up when you fly, did you know?.

I have a rather large suitcase sitting on my bed begging to be filled (never mind the 23kg limit as my baggage allowance) but the one thing I need the most is nowhere to be found - where is my motivation? I have been looking forward to this trip for months! I wake up hours before my alarm is due to go off I'm that excited. Allegedly.

I blame He Who Must Not Be Named (my boss - I'd type his name but I know for a fact he Google's himself on a weekly basis).

DRAINER.