Forain for lunch

Pussy Cocaine

monday

playing with lego

When I first arrived in my new room I thought it was amazing - wooden floorboards, white walls and white ikea furniture. It was simple, fresh, and very calming. But since then it has begin to bug me, and it's not a good feeling to dislike the place one should feel most comfortable. Why? Because it's not ME. I like rooms that are bursting with things to look at, bookcases, shelves, overflowing cupboards, paintings, photos, posters, lamps, radios, tins, homemade crafts, an assortment of odds that reflect one's interests / personality / tales of their life from where and when said object came into their possession. In short, an Aladdin's cave full of things my mother would call 'dust collectors'.

And I don't have that here. Having had to choose 20 kilos worth of everything I own in the middle of winter my priorities lay with coats, fleeces, sensible shoes and wooly jumpers, leaving little room for my more precious ornamental things so I'm having to slowly make my mark and build a new mess for myself.

But what's cool is how I had been sewing a curtain in some flowery old-ladyish fabric and finished it yesterday which makes me feel A proud and of this feat B like my room is cosier and C inspired to make a patchwork quilt. Then this morning what did I see Tavi had written about in her last post? Teenage bedrooms. Quote "remind me of teenage bedrooms which I am really fascinated by since it's the environment a person tries to create for themself while constructing new identities and in an attempt to run away within their own home. Then there's all this old memory sentimental junk lying around even when someone tries becoming a different person, childhood leftovers and embarrassing souvenirs among hair dye and newly discovered music" Echoing my sentiments to an extent as I'm constructing an identity for myself, perhaps not as radical as the path to finding oneself as a teenager leaving childhood behind, but I'm having to think who I am in the world outside of college and outside of home and the place where I knew who I was and how I fitted in there. And while I'm trying to become this new person I wish I had some sentimental junk lying around to cry over from time to time. Anyway, she linked to a site "Because mine no longer exists" and it's all about... Bedrooms!

rock the baroque

all night long

A Series of Fortunate Events

Sometimes, on days when you're not even wearing your rose-tinted glasses, life is like the movies, which is pretty gosh darned fantabulous. Not that I've ever had the luck to wake up looking anywhere near to half as lovely as I did the night before, my story begins with the sunniest day of the year thus far spent being wonderfully hungover in the park eating ice cream and welcoming the evenintide by going to the ballet in the Theatre Champs Elysees. Then cue day two of going to a flea market but getting really lost on the way so that by the time you arrive your friends are ready to leave because it's really cold and pissing rain and they haven't bought anything, but on the way home you spot a second hand clothes shop and find the most comfortable and either coolest (or craziest) pair of jeans for three euros. And then just when you thought you were finally growing tired of eating porridge you made a revolutionary breakthrough and discover your new favourite way of eating it - diced up pear on top yum yum. And because luck comes in threes you find, on the third day, not one but two letters in your postbox in the morning time. And in the afternoon you happen to be walking behind a lady as she discards a copy of Elle magazine ontop (and not inside) of a bin, within which there is an article reporting on aw 2011 trends, one of which is a canine theme, and so you know the super cool new trousers you just bought are going to work out a treat, you're going to fall in love with the man of your dreams, and the three of you will live happily ever after.