The clean dream (AM)

Me* in my jeans and jumper

As if having one's wardrobe dictated by weather conditions isn't difficult enough, breastfeeding adds another confounding factor. Add to that a nonexistent social life and it's a wonder I'm ever in anything but a button-front muumuu. (I wish! I'd flipping love a button-front muumuu.) But despite needing to wear warm clothes with easy access to my boobs and nowhere to go, I'm thinking about clothes a lot. All I wear is jeans and jumpers. Jeans and jumpers. Both of which I probably have enough of to cater for my home-bound lifestyle and yet. And yet...

Recently though something hit me. It was Baby. That kid is always running into me or whacking me for some reason or another.  But something else hit me too, this desire for new clothes it's not just a desire for new clothes. And it's not just a desire for the hot new life you imagine those clothes will bring you. I mean obviously I know my desire for new clothes is about filling some deep void within me. But that's not what I'm talking about. It's also about a desire for sharp grooming. Cleanliness. 

The other day I tried on a pair of jeans and a jumper at a shop. It was a cute kit, I liked it a lot, the cut and colour of the jeans and jumper but I knew it was not dissimilar to all I had at home when suddenly I realised the difference. They were so fresh, so clean. The jeans not faded or worn at the knees or other bulgy bits that stress the fabric. The sweater was totally pill-free. I looked so goddamn fresh. That's what happens when you try on new clothes. They are clean, fresh, better than all your other clothes. No wonder I want them all the time. No wonder we all do. 

But that change room revelation was great! It's given me power to say no. Oh sure I'm going to buy clothes again that I don't need but it's just one more tool in my arsenal of resistance and that is OK by me!

*Here I am played by GOOP

This post is not about McConaughey (AM)

I've been thinking a bit about Matthew McConaughey lately. You know, because the recent McConaissance has had him up in everyone's grill. He's been a bit of a joke for a pretty long while. All those romantic comedies. The constant toplessness. Didn't he get arrested once for being high and playing the bongos on a beach while topless? I seem to recall that he did, but also,  I generally think of him as a kind of cashed-up American hippy so I might just be making up the bongos thing because it sounds like a cashed-up American hippy's Friday night.

I don't make a habit of thinking about him, but when I do, there's the slightest bit of affection there because of the film Dazed and Confused.
I love that film. I love him in it. I love everyone in in, but I think I particularly love him in it.

I love it when he says "High school girls. I keep getting older but they stay the same age. Yes they do."
I kind of love it that to this day, he looks pretty much exactly like he did in that film. You know, apart from the recent weight loss.

I don't love that the baby looks like it could be high, but I do love how cute it is.

But enough about McConaughey, this post is not about McConaughey. No it's not. It's about Wiley Wiggins.
One of the things that the McConaissance has led to is renewed focus on his earlier films, including Dazed and Confused, and that's OK by me. It's great to think and read about that film again.
But what's not so great is to see how the years have been a little cruel to Wiley Wiggins, the chap who played Mitch Kramer.

In D&C he was a baby-faced addidas loving awkward teen, which is to say, totally J's type.
And while McConaughey look exactly like he did in his D&C days, this is what Wiley looks like now:

No shit, they're the same guy. Can you believe it? I can hardly believe it. And I don't know what to say about it. I mean, we all look different now, apart from McConaughey. I can't judge the man for looking older because he is older, and so am I and so are you and so is that guy. But this kind of breaks my heart a little. D&C was all about how being a teenager is hard and high school is hard and Ben Affleck is a horrible bully with fluffy hair and bad teeth and all the rest of it. But at the end of the film, there's some hope for Mitchey Kramer. And now this. It's hard to take, you know?
Still, he's probably happy enough, combining acting with working in software.
Oh geez.

Why is Legolas so creepy? (PM)

Good grief, Legolas looks terrible. It looks like he's spent the time in between LOTR and The Hobbit on some kind of elf rumspringa.  And to be honest, I can see why you'd need to. Living in an elf kingdom where everyone is poised, beautiful and lives forever and the lighting is always really great would have its downside. No one ever tripping and falling in a comical way. What do they laugh at? I bet they never laugh. No one tucking in to a burger and spilling shit all over themselves. I bet they don't even have burgers. Not that you can tell that by looking at 2014 Legolas. But seriously, I prefer this life to the elf life because:
- getting older is definitely better than getting dead, just like J said
- I like burgers.

Ha, look what happens when you search "orlando bloom burger"

That's not a burger, LegLOLas.

Don't know what you've got til it's gone (PM)

I wish I knew what to say to you Mate. Other than 'nothing gold can stay' but that just makes me think about how great Diane Lane's hair was in the film version of The Outsiders. I don't think it's right to bring that up now. 

I think, maybe, what you had with Tom...you'll have it again. But the thing I've  come to realise now that I'm older is that its not and never will be a permanent thing. Sometimes you'll find a person who makes you feel like they speak to and through you and your hair. And sometimes that same person will make you feel nothing. I think we've just got to accept it. Cop it sweet as Big K would say. 

Meanwhile, here is my hair blowing in the wind at Yarck, where I am right now. Woot!

Don't know what you got 'til it's gone (AM)

When I first met my ex-hairdresser it was like... magic. It was just luck. Or was it kismet. I called up this salon that was owned by a friend of a friend. He'd cut my hair years earlier and I always liked his cuts but when I decided to try out his new salon I decided to leave it to fate. I remember calling, requesting a time and being told, "Sure, you can see Tom."

Tom.

We talked about my wants, my needs, he looked at me and knew what to do. I felt so safe in his hands. And then he washed my hair. And gave me the head massage. I know a lot of people that have seen Tom and back then they all commented on the head massage. That massage was a game changer. Once I've had one that came close. Once. But Tom's massages back then, they were something else. That was it. And the cut. The cut was just so...good. And it looked salon-great for days, weeks almost. I didn't even know it could be like that. He did my colour once too. It was great. Dark brown with these caramel chunks. I mean it sounds foul, but it looked awesome. And that day it was like he blow-dried my hair longer. What?!

For the first few years it was like this, great, dynamic cuts that would make me feel like a million bucks. Oh, sure, he was a real self-absorbed talker, but I didn't mind. Often I even enjoyed it.

But nothing  gold can stay, right? He seemed to get tired of the work, of life. My haircuts were never bad but they just stopped exciting me. He stopped listening to me. Things were stale. I moved on.

On to what? A new hairdresser every cut. A desperate search trying to find the one that makes me feel something. Anything. Oh sure, there was Tim. I thought he may be the one, but on reflection I think I was just desperate and the proximity to Tom's name made it seem some how poetic. Ultimately though Tim and I weren't meant to be.

I've had a bunch of cuts from a bunch of different people and they've all been been pretty good. But none of them have satisfied me the way Tom did. And then on Friday I got a cut that I just kind of hate. And now there is nothing but despair. Not over the hair. I feel philosophical about that. It'll grow out, it'll be fine. I despair of every finding a hairdresser. I thought I'd just meet someone, that I could find a hairdresser like that again. I was a fool. Just a fool to believe...

Internet, you've ruined hunks (PM)

Gee Mate, way to hit the nail on the head. For ages I've been grappling with this feeling, this very strange feeling, that the golden age of hunk has passed. I looked around at the current offerings and felt nothing at all in my hunk chakra. Just a mild sense of irritation at how annoying they all seem. But now I realise it's the goddamned internet that's to blame. Eff you, internet, why you gotta ruin hunks for us?

But, if I'm honest, the internet also saved me from getting a boner for Channing Tatum, which was stirring a little after I saw Magic Mike. But then he was in my face so much that that boner went away and it went away forever. And that's thanks to the internet. So I guess there's two sides to this internet coin. 

And now, let me bid you all good weekend with this picture from the golden age of hunks. No ensemble cast better represents hotness that balances on a knife's edge more than these tuffs. 

Internet, you've ruined hunks (AM)

Recently, I asked the Internet what’s hot and Google showed me this:




Haha. Good one google.

Anyway, eventually I got to this thing on Buzzfeed about why Joseph Gordon Levitt may be hot.

 

And, as I well and truly already knew, there are several reasons. In simpler, pre-internet days there would actually be no question in my mind about the legitimacy of JGL's hotness. I like JGL, he's good in stuff and hot, therefore JGL = Hunk. But now I actually have to decide based on all this information whether or not a person is actually hot. With the Internet there is so much more to know. In the old days you just watched a few movies, read a few magazines, if you were lucky saw the odd interview on Letterman. A hunk was a hunk.

But now, there is so much exposure to people, sheesh, it's a wonder anyone is still a hunk. Let's, for example, examine Joey Gordon Levitt. First I just thought I loved him. Then, thanks to the Internet, I heard an interview with him on Fresh Air. I liked him well enough but I was primed to love him. Why didn't I love him? There, chink 1 in his hunk armour. Also, I read his twitter feed. It’s ok, sometimes amusing, sometimes annoying. Like everyone’s I guess. But still, I don't love him. Bam, another chink.

It's just that I know too much. In the old days a hunk was a hunk 'cause you just saw them in movies you could make them whoever you wanted. But now that’s harder. Look at our HotMC hunks: Casey Affleck, Gael Garcia Bernal, Jake Gylenhaal, even Jimmy Bartel, no Twitter feeds and pretty low level media exposure. Paul Newman, definitely no Twitter feed.

Internet, I guess you must be good for something other than providing pictures of cats that look like Hitler. I mean, Wikipedia seems ok, but sometimes I just wish we lived in simpler times. Times when you'd find a picture like this in Smash Hits and would have known without a doubt you were looking at a hunk.

Nothing gold can stay, I guess. 

A farewell to Haiku Thursday (PM)

Hey Haiku Thursday
We've had some real good times
Laughed cried fell in love

Loved you so damn much
I turned you into a book
It was real, G

When you turned to God...
And went to the races, yo...
So funny, like gold

But gold's not funny
And you know what they do say
Nothing gold can stay

WTF?! Wednesday (AM)

Hi guys.

We're back in Melbourne now. I guess it had to happen sooner or later. Gosh Hobart was great. I know everyone knows that, but it must be said again. It really is great.

Real life is just as I remember, however. Some parts of it are great (people and stuff) and some parts are not so great. Remember how someone snapped the windscreen wiper off my car a few weeks ago? Well now some douche-b has broken my side mirror too.

People, please stop vandalising my car.  Your vandalism makes me sad and costs me money. If you are someone I know and you have a vendetta against me, lets talk about it! If you are not someone I know and are just randomly vandalising, please, go draw a cock like everyone else!

Thanks.

The dream is over (PM)

Look guys, I'm not proud of what happened last night, but it happened and I can't change it now. 

And plus, J is being pretty selective in her account of the evening. Shortly after the bit where J was all lying on the floor looking shot out, I came downstairs for a glass of water and J joined chickpea on the couch for a bit. Before long, I heard her say:        

"I would kill myself if I had to sing this song on TV."

I enquired after the song that was being sung, but J didn't know what it was.

Moments later, when the song was all sung,  I heard Chickers say "Well I don't think there's any doubt, Darren is the clear winner", to which J replied "Agreed!".

I'm pretty sure she liked what she saw, and I'm pretty sure it will only be a matter of days before she searches for, and discovers this:

The dream is over (AM)

Oh readers, Hobart started off so well!

Sure we sat on the tarmac in Melbourne for an hour before our plane could leave and when we got to Hobart we were starving and everything was shut even though it was only 6PM. But you remember yesterday, right? We were having the best time.

By last night Chickpea and K were glued to The Voice! THE VOICE, people! I did work, actual work for work just to avoid watching it.

But then I just started feeling like this:

Then like this:

And then like this:

And then like this:

Thank god today will be filled with Bruny Island cheese and home time.