This one’s for the boy and all you ladies who love some man hair. amen!
This one’s for the boy and all you ladies who love some man hair. amen!
What is it about this image that makes me love it so much? I came across the picture while exploring the blog Copenhagen Cycle Chic on a recommendation from a friend. Click the image to check it out for yourselves.
I think the main part I love has to be the turban, followed by what I hope is a red lipstick (can’t really see but I’ve decided it is anyway). After that it is the stern gaze. This woman is looking for YOU. Y’all better come here right NOW.
Ah yes, I see she is also employing the age-old hovering in one spot without my bikestand on move. She is a far more skilled bicycle technician than I had previously anticipated.
It’s also a typical early Spring day in Europe. Which fills me with intense longing and excitement because it’s not too long now until I”ll be there myself. I promise to reenact this photo.
There are some things in this wide world that just don’t sit right with me. One of these things is a person who is wearing pants that are quite clearly too short. Call me judgemental, call me a pedant, call me what you will, but when I see a person with too-short trousers, my mind goes “oh honey no”.
In high school, we had a student teacher, who’s first name was Eric, but I’ve forgotten his last name. Let’s call him Herr Eric. He too was a man of short pants. A man of short, corduroy pants. But Herr Eric was German and young and silly and we forgave him his short pants and the inch of hairy skin because of the sheer comedic value of his existence. Not so for supposedly corporate men that stroll the streets of East Perth. This I cannot abide.
Basically, I am a shortarse, and I recently got some work trousers taken up by a tailor. I quite clearly stated that “I still want to wear these pants with heels, so please don’t take them up too much”, to which the robust tailor nodded sagely and said “of course”, and you know, I believed him. That was until today. I am a serial looker-into-shop-windows-pretending-i’m-looking-inside-but-actually-just-looking-at-my-own-reflection-er, and to pay me back for my cosmic vanity the universe brought to mine eyes a horrible sight. That is to say, I THINK MY PANTS ARE TOO SHORT.
Oh look, I’ve bored you to death. whoops.
There is this chap at my workplace, and for the sake of anonymity, lets call him *Ron. Ron is a great guy, he’s married with a baby son, and has been building his house for 2 years. Ron also is the barista. And he’s a bit of a bugger. He took a little while to warm up to me, but now that I’ve become a semi-regular around the joint, I have been welcomed into the inner sanctum on Ron-ness. An inner sanctum that has serious perks.
Numero uno, free coffee. Now there is little that makes my heart leap as much as those two words. I freakin love those little loyalty stamp cards, where if you buy 10 coffees your next one’s free. One of the happiest days in my sad sad life was when I discovered that at Exomod you ONLY NEED TO BUY EIGHT COFFEES TO GET ONE FREE! That’s right, people, run, don’t walk.
So anyway, back to Ron and the inner sanctum. I thought he was the boss there, hence the dishing out of said perks. But it has recently come to my attention that he is not the head honcho at the cafe, and therefore his generous rewards scheme is in fact, a delicate dance of mystery and espionage. You see, if *Ron, (now do you see why I am protecting his identity?) was caught, there would be a moderate scolding involved, and immediate cessation of freebies. The best bit though, is that when Boss-lady is around, he charges me for the coffee, but, wait for it, GIVES ME DOUBLE STAMPS. oh god.
Absolute horror night’s sleep last night. I woke up like a bazillion times because my shoulder muscles were tensing so hard the pain (agony) was radiating down my arms. ‘orriblement.
The BF came to bed later on, and stayed up reading, when I decided to one of my spectacularly random sit ups. I sometimes do this thing where I sit up in bed while still asleep, anyway, I did that but unfortunately for me, Tom happened to be scratching his eye, and my head collided with his elbow. noice.
I still barely woke up, but I do remember letting out some sort of wild noise along the lines of “cor!”, and clutching my head. I am barely a person today, and one of the especially sore ones at that.
Today I was trying to think up a witty and interesting name for this blog. It had to be something sort of catchy and had to say something about me. I’m not always a real girly girly girl, although I can be at times, and I don’t really have all that much of the feminine mystique about me. I’m more of a straight forward, let discuss this issue over a glass of red in each others’ face sort of a gal.
So basically I didn’t want to faff around, being something I’m not. That’s how I arrived at hello sam goodbye samantha. Because if there’s one thing I am not, it is a Samantha. Now most people assume that my name is Samantha but I prefer Sam. To these freaks I say fail. My legal name is Sam. I wont deny that for years I ached, positively ached to be Samantha, and lambasted my parents for doing me so very wrong all those years ago. My mum chose just Sam because she thought it was spunky.
And I love it now. Just Sam. Just Sam and no middle name.
10. Diet coke, or as I prefer to call it, DC. DC is absolutement refresh-e-ment. But it has to be of the sub zero temperature kind. One thing I cannot abide is a lukewarm diet coke. Vom.
9. Skype. I don’t even know how to use the damn thing properly, but still, in theory, loving it.
8. Chevre (a soft goat’s cheese). Oh god. freakin delish. big time. put it in a salad, or caramelise some spanish onion, balsamic vinegar, and cherry tomatoes. Put in little filo pastry cups and top with salty globs of chevre. Bake for 10 mins and eat warm. You can thank me later.
7. Alannah Hill. The designer of my very expensive yet supremely delightful and happy-making handbag. My sister has a fuschia alanna hill coat that has me writhing in covetous envy
6. Having a job. Can’t say that it fulfils all my inherent needs wants and/or desires, but having a paycheck each fortnight is damn good. Gets me closer to london every minute.
5. Thunderstorms. You’ve probably heard about or experienced it, but Perth and Melbourne just had major freak hailstorms. I experienced both, but have to say, Perth comes up trumps purely because of inconvenience. Not only was the whole of Perth taking public transport with me, but the train in front of mine broke down, and we were stuck on a hot train for over 40 mins. Balls. But snuggling down under the covers with a certain someone gets two thumbs up from me.
4. Mad Men. I freakin’ love Christina Hendricks and her sasstastic bosom. She is one fine dame. I also love how I love Don Draper but I hate him I hate him too. Oh the dichotomies of good drama.
3. Yoga. I am by no means the most fit/flexible/committed person ever to roam these lands, but there is something so relaxing about going all pretzel in your face. It’s so hard that you have no more room in your head to stress.
2. A friend being surprised that I didn’t have a blog. Until now. She may live to regret the suggestion. (so might I…….)
1. The Boy. You know you love someone when they make you laugh so hard that you can’t breathe. Or when they wake you up in the middle of the night by flinging their arms open, exclaiming that they are a fairy and their name is “Tinkerface”. Loves it.
A mum in Nashville with two feckin gorgeous boys and a sense of humour to boot.
click it. you know you want to.
Sam: Will you give me a push?
Tom: Do I have to?
Sam: No…..but yes?
Tom: *sigh* okay.
Sam: Faster. FasterfasterFASTER!
Sam: weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! (ouch)