ny.......

I considered inserting one of those pointless, long-winded, and mostly self serving recaps of 2013 (the sort that are no doubt littering your various social media feeds like leftover beer cans after a raucous party) right here. But I don’t want people, meaning you, to despise me. Plus my memory of anything past the last few months is shady at best, and my predisposition to laziness precludes me from searching archives or inboxes and pressing load more tweets.

I considered posting a picture of the rather large mug I intend to consume vodka out of this evening, combining it with a simple HNY (that’s happy new year for the uninitiated) and pretending it was an actual form of communication and expression. But I’m not sure promoting the ingestion of a large amount of liquid of the Russian variety is in the spirit of what I’m doing here. Plus I just like the sound of my own words too much.

Then, despite the fact that I've historically been steadfastly the non-resolution type, I considered posting a list of resolutions. I actually wrote out a few before it occurred to me that resolving to not make resolutions seemed counter-productive. The remainder of them included buying an Acne denim shirt, and saying yes more - unless the answer was no or I really didn’t want to say yes. See counter-productive.

Having exhausted these quality ideas, here, instead, is what I learnt this year...

Everything looks better on Instagram

Figuring it out as you go along is a perfect substitute for a plan

Peanut M&M’s are infinitely better than regular M&M’s

And often, people will make assumptions about you that belittle who you are and what you want to do, the trick is to not give a fuck about what they think

That’s it. See you on the flip-side...

HNY

kb xx

no more faking it.......

My legs are so pale that you could conceivably be standing kilometres away from me, and still make out the spindly blue veins that creep under my skin. A combination of my English heritage and a childhood spent with my nose stuffed between the pages of a book and not outside in the blistering Australian sun, means my legs, and in fact all of me, are a lovely pale shade of white.

For a lot of years now, I’ve conformed to the idea that a tan makes you look better. A golden glow makes you look thinner, healthier, happier etc. etc. etc. And all that time spent in spray tan booths, slathering on foams and creams and lotions, and smelling like some kind of weird chemical coconut is worth it. Just to achieve the skin of a bronzed goddess, albeit a short one - with red hair.

But this year, I quit.

This year I’m throwing out all the fake tan crap that has accumulated in my bathroom, I’m leaving the golden glows and bronze goddesses behind. I’m embracing my ghostly shade.

I’m white baby, real white and I’m ok with it.

Just think, this summer I’ll have so much free time. Time I would have spent faking it. Imagine how normal my palms will look? How stain free my linen will be? Imagine a bathroom that doesn’t smell like drug lab run by coconuts?

Oh bliss.

This year, I’m going to learn to love the skin I was born with, freckles, visible veins and so pale it blinds your eyes. Because, who the fuck decided pale white kids with red hair weren’t cool?

kb xx