Little Secrets

I love people watching. It's a little thing I like to do. Whether I'm in Starbucks looking out over the dart line in Blackrock at people running to catch the dart just pulling in or overlooking the lake from the library in college, it kind of consumes me. Sarah and myself are the queens of this glorious past time. We make up stories about said people and both give our insights into what the person could be doing with their lives.  I wonder where these people are from, how rich/poor they are, whether they know any of my friends, if they have a significant other or are utterly alone. I also like to see when people bump into friends/college mates, and watch their body language to see if they fancy each other of if they've already had sex with them. It's actually quite hilarious how easily you can spot these things. A simple knowledge of body laguage opens up an amazing amount of insight! But my absolutely most favourite thing when it comes to people watching is seeing someone smiling to themselves walking along. Not one of those smiles that doesn't stretch to the eyes, but one of those thoughtful, remembering a private joke or happy moment kind of smiles. They're the ones that make my day. I'd like to be a smile on someone's face at some stage. Maybe it's already happened, I'll never know. But one way or another I've had plenty of those moments. You know the ones. You're walking down the road, listening to your iPod, then BAM! you remember something that happened to a friend that made your guts spill out of your mouth laughing, or something nice that someone said to you one day, or even something extremely embarrassing that you said or did to someone you really like (the last one has happened to me maaaaaaaaaaannnnnny times). But it really is like the saying that it's the little things that are important in life. A person letting you go through a door first, someone in the bathroom of a club saying they like your shoes, a smile from a baby in a pram, an old man lifting his hat to you as you walk past him in the street, or even your older brother leaving the last biscuit in the packet for you because he knows you're drooling over it in your head. Those are the things that make my day. Just think about it, if we did one nice thing for a random person or even your friend, then you might be that smile on that person's face the next day.

Just some food for thought.

Happy Wednesday everyone,
Living In Wonderland xo

Fuck Love Let's Get Drunk

Hope you all had a lovely Hallmark Day. It's quite literally the shittest day ever yet people still buy into it and poor guys feel like they have to spend and lavish and do all this stuff for the girl. It's not fair on them. Want to know what I did for the day? I was in a state between consciousness and death throughout the entire time, taking up the biggest sofa in my sitting room with a pint of water at my side, the remote in my hand and a blanket thrown over me. All with last nights make up smeared halfway down my face. Loverly. No wonder I'm single. Throw in a bit of Sunday roast and family time for good measure. That's how all my Sundays are starting to be. Not good. Note: Don't ever mix pints of cider and a bottle of wine mixed with a bit of vodka. Does weird things to the brain.

Living In Wonderland xo

"I am a deeply superficial person" - Andy Warhol

"I like boring things" - Andy Warhol.

1928 - 1987

I love Andy Warhol. I always have, always will. Ever since my Dad brought me to see his travelling exhibition in the Irish Museum of Modern Art when I was five. The man is amazing. I know some people thought he was crap, or overrated, or ridiculous, but there is something about his pop art that I have always just loved and identified with.

I remember it so well. I had my hair scraped up into the neatest ballerina's bun imaginable and I wore a black and purple flower velvet dress with my white tights and black patent buckle shoes. I looked fricken amazing if I do say so myself. Anyways, my dad drove us over there and I fell in love immediately. The colours, settled on white walls and stands popped out at me. Everything was huge and playful looking. Fun. Exciting. Nothing like I had ever seen before in my short-lived life. I had also known who Marilyn Monroe (one of my icons) was too so when I saw her stunning face projected into many pictures and colours I was in awe. I remember the huge multicoloured pictures of Elvis and of a bunch of Campbell's tomato soup boxes stacked sporadically on a stand in the middle of a room. I was enthralled. I had never eperienced nothing like this at all in my life.

There were interactive pieces too. "The Lindy Tuck-In Turn-Man" dancing diagram was printed onto the floor so people could practice it, which my father and myself tried out and fell over. Naturally. That's what happens when you put the two must left-feeted people together and try and get them to try the Foxtrot. But that's besides the point. I just basically fell in love with this man "Andy Warhol". I'd never met him or knew what he even looked like, but he seemed like my kind of guy and we could have the laughs together. Maybe he would've liked my headless Barbies. Alas, this meeting was never to proceed, as the little fucker died 2 years before I was even born. The sheer nerve of the guy. I immediately forgave him when I entered that a room that said "NO ADULTS ALLOWED". Dad stood at the door while I roamed inside. There were other children my age playing with what I can only describe as inflatable silver pillows. Lots and lots of them. I was in complete and utter awe of the whole spectacle. It felt like I was in a little haven where I could do what I wanted. The room just screamed FUN to me. I could just picture Warhol looking over the children with joy on his face, loving the fact that parents and adults could not join in, that this was purely art for the children.

"Silver Clouds" - Andy Warhol 1966

I will never forget that glorious day. It started my obsession with Warhol from about then on. For my Junior Cert in art I did 2 huge pieces inspired by Warhol. I came across a print of Mickey Mouse (who I fricken adore too) that he did in different colours, and I replicated it all over my books and copy pages instead of doing actual school work.

I also watched the film "The Factory Girl" starring Sienna Miller. It was a biopic on Edie Sedgwick, who was for a long time Andy Warhol's muse and how he treated her (bold Andy) and how drugs became her demise. I would have loved to have lived during that period and floated around the Factory to see the goings on of that whole group. Edie Sedgwick in her own right was a huge fashion icon. Nowadays people have stylists and the top people primping and preening celebrities to perfection, but Sedgwick did her own hair, make up and styling. The girl was IT. Sweet, beautiful, playful, and innocence were what made her such an entity to the fashion and art world. I would have loved to see what she would look like now if she was still alive. I would like to imagine that she would still wear those huge earrings that she always used to wear with fabulous eye make-up.

I am currently on the look out for a MASSIVE Marilyn Monroe painting by Andy Warhole so that I can put it on my wall in my bedroom. The bigger the better. I want it to be the main focal point of my room. Nothing else on that side. Just cream walls and her beautiful face. The sooner I find a not-so-expensive one I'll snap it up straight away, but untill then I shall have to deal with the fabulous pictures off the internet.

Until next time bunnies,

Living In Wonderland xo

You Think Me Rude But I Would Just Stand And Stare

I got my hair cut on Friday. Not a regular kind of cut where you go in and say "Oh just a trim to get rid of the split ends and some layers please", no no, I got the mother of all haircuts. And it was completely by mistake too. I asked to get it cut shorter than what I normally have (My hair was long with a thick fringe), and my hairdresser Sinead interpreted it as "cut it short". I was reading the OK! magazine or something like that, glanced up, and had a mini heart attack. I'm not a person who would normally freak out about these things, but it was just because I cannot honestly remember the last time my hair was that short. I felt so sorry for Sinead because I could see she was starting to panic because I was starting to panic, but then she calmed me down and basically told me to chillax the fricken kacks, and I did. She continued on and I sat there silently sweating bullets, and realised that it was actually quite nice. My mother, who was getting her hair done at the same time, sat down next to me and I counted the minutes until she copped on that I was next to her. She liked it, so I felt a bit more better about the whole situation.

In total I got about 6 inches cut off my hair, and the back is shorter than the front (I would say it's like the Pob but it's not and my hair is thicker and longer and nicer), and sort of resembles Elizabeth Taylor circa Cleopatra, but it's different and I like it. I also appreciated the fact that when I showed my friends they loved it and one of my besties Claire screamed at a pitch so high I honestly was waiting for glass to start smashing around me. So that was a good sign I guess. Either way it's about time I changed my hair I realised afterwards I have had the same hair style pretty much for the last 5 years or so. You need to get out of the ruts you've been letting yourself get stuck in and branch out and be bold and try new things. These are the days when we can get away with it all and look back in years to come and go "OH JESUS H. CHRIST WHAT WAS I FUCKING THINKING DOING THAT TO MYSELF WHY DIDN'T SOMEONE HAVE ME INSTITUTIONALIZED??". Ah yes, these are the days. Live them.

Pictures soon.

Night all,

Living In Wonderland xo