tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56911608477366966652024-02-07T17:06:52.982+11:00Turning TrixieSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-33020293436318420942011-11-15T18:30:00.001+11:002011-11-15T18:35:23.279+11:00How Can I Help You?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.mint.com/blog/consumer-iq/funniest-customer-service-videos-12302010/">{Image}</a></td></tr>
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During an illustrious *ahem* career, I have always worked in customer service jobs. I’ve answered phones, assisted enquiries, made appointments, and even helped out Santa. I can’t imagine not working in a role like this – it’s what I’ve always done, and I think that I’d go quite batty if I was left to my own devices on a regular basis. <br />
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People are the best part, and the worst part of a job in customer service. Some days you will have a string of customers who make you laugh, take an interest in what’s going on, listen considerately to what you are saying, and are just pleasures to deal with. Those days you leave work with a spring in your step, and an absolute faith in humanity.<br />
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And then there are the other days; the ones where you encounter twat after miserable sodding twat. They leave you feeling wrung out, prone to headbutting, and with an absolute certainty that society is going to hell in a handbasket and that it would just be best to debunk now. You can’t predict it – one second you’ll be having a lovely chat with someone, the next second *BAM*… they’re staring at your chest, breathing heavily, and patronising the shit out of you. <br />
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You always hear about how you should be good to the people that serve your food in restaurants and cafes. You know that there’s a great window of opportunity for them to tamper with your mushroom fettuccine, and that it isn’t out of the question for bodily fluids to become involved. You know that, you abide by that (if you’re clever), and you eat your pasta without any contamination. <br />
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What people don’t seem to think about is that ANYBODY in a customer service job can make things difficult for you, if they feel like it. Sure, you probably won’t actually be consuming anything that they’ve handled, but paperwork can be misplaced, waiting times can suddenly inexplicably double, previously known information can be spontaneously forgotten, and, “Oh sorry – did I just hang up on you?”<br />
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For the most part, us customer service people are well-balanced individuals. We are not generally given to physical violence and attempting to place curses upon the people that we encounter. A “please” and a “thank you” can go a long way to ensuring that we don’t actually give you the wrong directions to the nearest service station.<br />
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Don’t patronise us. Don’t use the fact that we’re wearing a name tag as an excuse to stare at our chests. Don’t have a domestic at our counter. Don’t answer your phone while we’re serving you, and expect us to stand there patiently while you try to figure out what’s for dinner tonight. Don’t ask us a question, and then interrupt us halfway through our answer. Don’t get angry with us if the information that we are giving you is displeasing to you. And for god’s sake – use your manners.<br />
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Receptionists are people too, damn it.<br />
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PLEASE NOTE: I’m not saying that I’ve ever done any of this stuff. I’m just saying that if I wanted to, I could.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-53647358763834329572011-10-30T17:25:00.001+11:002011-10-30T17:25:59.816+11:00Teddy Bear's Picnic (Sans Bears)A while ago I made a new product for my Turning Trixie market offerings. It's a little picnic set which includes a bottle bag, two placemats that have a handy little pocket and loop for your cutlery and napkin, and some dandy mismatched cutlery. The two that I've made so far are from an old curtain, and it's all just a bit cute.<br />
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On the market day I had a bottle of wine as part of the display - I went all classy. I was going to take some new photos today of the sets to put on here, but I've run out of class (wine) so I'm just going to stick with the market pics.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Photo by <a href="http://wonkawashspelledbackwards.blogspot.com/">Naomi</a>}</td></tr>
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And after you're done picnicking, the placemats handily roll up and can be carried in the drinks bag. See the handiness! See the multi-functioning item!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Photo by <a href="http://wonkawashspelledbackwards.blogspot.com/">Naomi</a>}</td></tr>
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I also went on a little op-shopping trip the other day, and I scored. SCORED. There are some days when you just happen to be sitting somewhere, playing with your fringe and wondering if maybe you should part it on the other side, and suddenly you're struck with the overwhelming need to go to a particular op-shop.<br />
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Sometimes it doesn't pan out. Sometimes you drive hell for leather to that op-shop, only to find stained 80's clothing, hundreds of white shirt buttons, the ubiquitous Kamahl records, and hostile volunteers who just won't smile, however damned hard you try.
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But sometimes it DOES work out. And they're the days that make that instinct worth following. The days that, for example, you spend the princely sum of $23.50, and walk away with 4 dresses, a cardigan, a jumper, a piece of fabric, 2 doilies and 6 tablecloths.<br />
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Suffice it to say, I'm a pretty happy, tablecloth-laden kid.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-53278341816519613052011-10-23T21:38:00.002+11:002011-10-30T17:29:09.458+11:00In A WhirlwindIn the past few weeks I've been crafty...<br />
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I've done a Made With Love market...<br />
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I've been on a road trip to Hobart with the boy and his kidlets (via Tasmazia)...<br />
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I've flown to Sydney...<br />
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I've had a good hair day (whilst wearing my latest op-shop triumph)...<br />
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I've caught up with my friends...<br />
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I went to some cool markets...<br />
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I've communed with animals...<br />
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I've spent some quality time at my Mum's place...<br />
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And I hung out with one of my favourite little families, who just welcomed their new addition during the week...<br />
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So now I'm home. Halfway through a seven day work week, planning Christmas presents to make, and finally writing a blog post.<br />
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It's months like this that make me realise that I'm actually a pretty lucky chick.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-26702597191276685542011-09-30T17:30:00.000+10:002011-09-30T17:30:00.432+10:00AdventurelandPLEASE NOTE: This blog post is not related to the movie of the same name. Adventureland, the movie, sucked. I wish to have no affiliation with it. The end.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out at City Park</td></tr>
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Last weekend, the boy and I went to Launceston to take advantage of some el cheapo hotel rooms that I scored through work (have I mentioned how much I love working in tourism??).<br />
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I've not done much exploring in Launceston. I've driven through it, past it, and (I now realise) judged it purely on first impressions. I didn't like it. It looks grey, and busy (in comparison to the fair old town of Burnie), and I couldn't understand the appeal.<br />
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I do now. Launceston has brilliant cafes, a park with monkeys in it, a couple of fab vintage clothes shops, fantastic old buildings, a park with monkeys in it, a lovely cobblestone-type mall, and a park with monkeys in it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monkeys. In a park. Monkeys.</td></tr>
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D and I drove up there after work on Friday night, and generally lived it up in the snazzy hotel room. We ordered room service, I locked his wallet and phone in the room safe while he was out of the room, and we pretended that we were rich and that this lifestyle was normal. We know how to have a good time.<br />
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On Saturday we got up early and explored. Oh, the exploring. We went to one of the best cafes that I've ever been to for breakfast (<a href="http://www.facebook.com/freshoncharles">Fresh</a>). Fresh is totally organic, and has a lot of vegetarian options (otherwise known as hippy food). It was tasty, it was funky, it was just fantabulous.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Armchairs on the pavement outside Fresh</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chai latte *nom nom nom*</td></tr>
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From there we went vintage clothes shopping, and I finally got to visit <a href="http://www.facebook.com/nannascoffeevintage">Nanna's</a>. I've been wanting to visit Nanna's ever since I first saw Bianca from <a href="http://www.goodnightlittlespoon.com/">Goodnight Little Spoon</a> talk about it, and it's everything that I thought it would be. Awesome clothes, chicks wearing kerchiefs serving up old-school milkshakes, laminate tables and vintage teacups - I didn't want to leave. And once they played The Smiths on their stereo, neither did D. Really, if you go to Launceston, go to Nanna's. Do it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drawer of fabulousness at Nanna's</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awesome decor</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the few moments where I stopped squealing</td></tr>
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We spent the afternoon wandering. I finally cracked under the pressure and got an i-Phone. We had a picnic in the park, and visited the monkeys. We went to the Queen Victoria Museum. We walked until my tootsies requested that we stop. We managed to fit in so much goodness, it was amazing that neither one of us imploded from a happiness overload.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favourite portrait at the museum</td></tr>
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On Saturday night, we made our way into town to grab some dinner from an Indian restaurant, and avail ourselves to a few beverages from a local barkeep. While we were sitting at the pub, <a href="http://www.goodnightlittlespoon.com/">Bianca</a> rode past on her pink bike. I'll admit to being a bit excited. D missed the whole thing, because he was facing away from the window, and all he knew was that one moment I was sitting on the seat next to him, and then I was suddenly standing with my face smooshed against the window, talking about how cute her bike is. <br />
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And THEN (this story will end really soon, I promise) we drove down the Evandale and checked out the markets. Another thing that I can highly recommend. We didn't have much time, so we kind of just did a sweep of the area, and had very targeted browses (D - records, me - craft stuff) and then reconvened for more wandering.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rusty old Vespa at Evandale</td></tr>
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So, by and large, a radtacular time was had by all. All two of us. Just goes to show that you can't accurately judge a place from the drivers seat.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" height="400" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/306482_10150396047440992_651525991_9923156_1191920523_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Girl + Boy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com2Launceston TAS, Australia-41.4370868 147.1393767-41.627554800000006 146.82351970000002 -41.2466188 147.4552337tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-6008892365180864472011-09-29T18:28:00.000+10:002011-09-29T20:07:51.732+10:00Mad Like A HatterFor the month of October, Stitch 'N' Bitch are holding an exhibition in the gallery at the Wonders of Wynyard. The theme is Mad Hatter's Tea Party and it promises to be all sorts of craftacular brilliance.<br />
<br />
I haven't mentioned it before now, because I left my entry until the last minute to do. The. Last. Minute. I finished it today (started it yesterday), and the exhibition is being installed on Monday. I hoped that if I didn't mention it, nobody would notice the tardiness *peers around suspiciously*<br />
<br />
I've made a few little top hats, similar to the hat that I made for the <a href="http://turningtrixie.blogspot.com/2011/03/why-is-raven-like-writing-desk.html">March Made With Love</a>. The original intention was to make a plethora of hats (man, I love the word plethora) and have them arranged on a cupcake stand.<br />
<br />
Original idea: fail. It turns out that I didn't have a spare week to make a dozen hats. So, I just ended up making three, and hoping, again, that nobody notices the difference.<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/hat1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
To see other madly-inspired projects, go <a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/2011/09/tea-party-finished.html">here</a> and <a href="http://wonkawashspelledbackwards.blogspot.com/2011/09/things-that-are-finished.html#more">here</a>. Oh, and <a href="http://wonkawashspelledbackwards.blogspot.com/2011/09/more-things-that-are-finished.html">here</a>. And check <a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/2011/08/weekend-baby.html">this</a> out while you're at it.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-25248544256068496032011-09-29T16:35:00.000+10:002011-09-29T16:35:32.871+10:00FlaggedA couple of weeks ago I made some bunting as a custom order for a friend of mine. Her friend is having a bubba, and she wanted something for the room of the new little kidlet.<br />
<br />
It was great to get back into the scrappy swing of things - I haven't done anything like this for a while.<br />
<br />
And before we proceed, I apologise for the quality of the photos. It was late. I was fatigued. The lighting was not ample. I wasn't appropriately attired. The moon was in the wrong phase.<br />
<br />
It has nothing to do with my photography skills. No-thing.<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-35091194492937564172011-09-28T21:27:00.000+10:002011-09-28T21:27:53.293+10:00And I Was One Dollar Short<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
A couple of weeks ago I did a very quick trip up to Sydney. Reason: to see one of my favourite bands from back in my school days reform for a gig.<br />
<br />
There was squealing involved.<br />
<br />
The day threw into vast relief how very Gen Y my friends and I are, and how very Gen Z most of the other festival-goers were. I don't often have a chance to feel old - in fact, I quite regularly have the words, "You'd be too young to remember that" said to me. That's what happens when you're the youngest in a workplace - people lord their knowledge of ad jingles from the 80's over you. You just wait, 80's people... you just wait. One day I'll have an enviable knowledge of jingles. Then you'll be sorry. <br />
<br />
Anyway, on the day:<br />
<br />
Gen Y: Suitably attired for the scorching heat in singlets, tee-shirts and shorts.<br />
Gen Z: Scantily attired in teeny, tiny, little itty bitty shorts and midriff tops. 90's outfits worn in an ironic fashion. Bumbags included.<br />
<br />
Gen Y: Maintaining a moderate level of hydration with lots of bottles of water.<br />
Gen Z: Getting drunk.<br />
<br />
Gen Y: Applying sunscreen when sitting in the sun.<br />
Gen Z: Getting drunk.<br />
<br />
Gen Y: Reclining in the shade when possible, to try and stave away sunstroke.<br />
Gen Z: Getting drunk.<br />
<br />
I had a few soap-box moments when I wondered if their parents knew what they were doing, and then I remembered that I'm not 70. Not that there's anything wrong with being 70.<br />
<br />
The band that we had gone specifically to see was One Dollar Short. They are a band that I saw quite a few times back in the day. My first mosh-pit was at one of their gigs, and their songs formed the soundtrack for much of those angsty adolescent days.<br />
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<br />
Their set was unreal. My friend and I kept turning to each other and screaming the lyrics, and really getting into it. They sang the old favourites, and were just all around brilliant.<br />
<br />
And then the coolest thing happened.<br />
<br />
A couple of hours after their set, we bumped into the lead singer, Scott. We spoke to him. We got photos with him. We gushed at him. And he dealt with it all exceptionally well.<br />
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<br />
I may even have uttered the words, "I flew from Tasmania to see you!"<br />
<br />
I know that I'm cool.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-59729735160543806752011-09-17T15:30:00.000+10:002011-09-17T15:30:00.187+10:00Wayside<br />
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Now, I know that I’ve been fairly absent lately – both physically
and mentally. The monkey in my brain is struggling to keep up.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The reason is because of some extra work that I took on –
the graphic design work for the Bloomin’ Tulips Festival in Wynyard. For my New
South Welshman friends, think Blue Mountains Winter Magic Festival with more
flowers and less hippies. The work meant that I had a pretty hectic schedule
for over a month, and a lot of things fell to the wayside in the meantime (like
sleep, regular meals, a social life… you know, the usual).</div>
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<br /></div>
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The work itself was fun, challenging, occasionally
traumatic, but overall a great experience. Posters of my design are scattered
throughout the north-west and tourist information centres over the state, my
ads have been in the paper and online, and I’ve even done program and ticket designs.
My Mum’s pretty proud of me.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I did the design for the Mayoral Ball poster and other
assorted paraphernalia. The theme was Mary Poppins, so I went with the whole
chimney-sweep dance thing. I always loved that bit in the movie when I was a
kidlet, and may have even danced around the lounge room in the mistaken belief
that I was every bit as footloose as Bert.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br />
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I also did the poster for the festival itself, which ended
up being the most challenging. The brief was to come up with something that
encompassed the entirety of the festival – balloon animals and all. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br />
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My favourite design that I came up with, and that I’ve been
getting the most comments on (cue swelling of head), are the designs for the
cocktail party. I came up with a cocktail party duo – a guy and gal ready to
get their party on. The posters are displayed alternately throughout shops, so
that people walking around will see one in one shop, and then the other half of
the couple in another shop. I love my couple. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br />
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This is the first time that I’ve done graphic design for
quite a long while, and was the cause of a fairly public <a href="http://turningtrixie.blogspot.com/2011/08/when-all-else-fails.html">freak-out</a> at the
beginning of the process, but it’s finished now, and all in all I’m happy with
the results.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Now I think that I may just have a nap.</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-13903400584344943402011-09-16T12:00:00.000+10:002011-09-16T12:00:03.243+10:00Some Kind Of Disco Fever<br />
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Last weekend was our September <a href="http://www.facebook.com/MadeWithLoveMarketBazaar">Made With Love</a> markets. Think big hair, flailing around like second-rate versions of John Travolta, laughter,
awesome <a href="http://www.facebook.com/ThirdVine">buskers</a>, and a questionable dance floor. </div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/313794_194541747282197_114701738599532_445163_1913499253_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Crooked-Stitch/255950404439228">Crooked Stitch</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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As always, it was fun, it was silly, it was social, and we
had a blast. Thank you to everybody who supports our little market – you rock
our collective socks, and we couldn’t do it without you.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Now, onto the photos…</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/313841_194545187281853_114701738599532_445211_334018388_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little bit of Turning Trixie</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/311985_194542257282146_114701738599532_445172_1453568499_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisaloo</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/307152_194544823948556_114701738599532_445207_2016264715_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awesome live music from <a href="http://www.facebook.com/ThirdVine">Third Vine</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/309251_194545390615166_114701738599532_445213_1718853040_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sweetmiacreations">Sweet Mia</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kicking it ABBA style with <a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/">Michelle</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/300084_194548050614900_114701738599532_445246_2052162863_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Myself, <a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/">Michelle</a> & <a href="http://www.baby-boudoir.com/">Claire</a></td></tr>
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<br />
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Photos are taken by the wonderful <a href="http://wonkawashspelledbackwards.blogspot.com/">Naomi</a>, who we are very
lucky to have put up with our shenanigans. View the whole set <a href="http://www.facebook.com/MadeWithLoveMarketBazaar">here</a>.</div>
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<br /></div>
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If you are interested in having a stall, drop me a line at <a href="mailto:decoy_roadie@hotmail.com">decoy_roadie@hotmail.com</a> We’d love
to have you!</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-76809819319948719422011-09-04T18:33:00.000+10:002011-09-04T18:34:04.091+10:00Faking It<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/growup-1.jpg" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't be fooled - the vacuum wasn't actually turned on</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Today I've been catching up on my blog reading, and I came across <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/03/am-adult.html">this</a> pearler from Hyperbole and a Half. Sometimes I feel as though she can read inside my head. And not just any part of my head - the bit that contains the tumbleweed and the monkey.<br />
<br />
Most of the time, I feel like a semi-competent faux adult. Oh yeah, I drive myself places (see me driving this car? I even have the loan repayments so you know that this car makes me an adult), I arrive on time to things (mostly), I hold down a job (I haven't been fired yet) and I do lots of little things during the day that ensure my survival until another day (like breathing), but most of it is just a complex facade, and all that lays underneath is the girl who, unless she concentrates REALLY hard, forgets to eat/sleep/avoid obstacles while walking.<br />
<br />
You may have even noticed that I'm continually referring to myself as a girl. Or a gal. Or a chick. I can't bring myself to say "woman", or "lady". I feel like I'd just be giving myself ideas above my station.<br />
<br />
In a timely fashion, today (Father's Day) I had a moment for self-analysis when a new co-worker enquired if I had a "hubby at home celebrating Father's Day on his own". I laughed. Racuously. In her face. As I always do in these situations. People throw out the words "husband", "child", "pregnant", "home-ownership", "share market", "risoni" and the like, and I become flustered, feeling the need to explain that, while I may APPEAR as if I'm an adult, I'm nowhere near old enough for that stuff. <br />
<br />
Sure, legally I can do whatever I want. But really, until I can remember to eat 3 meals a day, please don't make me responsible for somebody else. I can't even cook eggs, for god's sake. The solitary time that I tried to cook rice was a majestic failure. I don't think that you realise exactly how underprepared I am for this big, bad world of ours.<br />
<br />
And then there's the flawed decision-making process that seems to be an integral part of my personality. The part that says, "Yeah, you're running late, your socks are wet, and you don't own a dryer. MICROWAVE!!!", and the part that then has to deal with blackened socks that snap when I try to turn them right side out. It's the part that says, "Although you are sitting on a high seat with your legs crossed underneath you, don't stand up to pick that piece of paper up off the floor. Just lean down to it. Lazy = good.", which unsurprisingly to everyone but myself, led to me losing an earring, receiving a blow to the head, and getting a boo-boo on my knee. And I still didn't manage to grab the catalyst piece of paper.<br />
<br />
Yesterday morning before work, I somehow managed to break my bedroom curtain rod. I don't know what happened; I was opening my curtains, and then all of a sudden I was draped in netting and wondering if my hazy vision was a side-effect of fatigue. A variety of appropriate responses came to mind, but the course of action that I chose based upon the variables (lack of time, need to get to work, lack of time) was the most obvious of all of the options - I closed the outer curtain again, and pretended that it never happened. I might get around to opening the curtain again and sorting out the issue. Or maybe it will magically fix itself. Who knows? All I know is that I'd rather live a life prepared to be open to the idea of magical curtain-fixing, than being all negative and whatnot.<br />
<br />
I keep assuming that these thought processes and actions will change - maybe once I hit 26 years of age something will happen inside me and I'll be able to make a mean omelette and watch the news without crying about all of the people that got hurt. I don't know. I try not to get my hopes up about it all. I think the far likelier outcome is that I will forever be driven to distraction by shiny things, and proud of obviously monumental feats like checking the fuses in my car - it's just that I might be able to control it all a little bit better.<br />
<br />
We can hope.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-15602920737409003592011-09-03T14:04:00.000+10:002011-09-04T10:50:26.694+10:00The Testimonial<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1116090179" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" height="300" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/romance.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://mssinglemama.com/2008/02/08/does-romance-really-exist/">{Image}</a></td></tr>
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<br />
I'm here to say it - <a href="http://turningtrixie.blogspot.com/2011/02/come-here-often.html">internet dating</a> worked. <br />
<br />
*pauses for gasps of awe and shock*<br />
<br />
I know, it surprised me as much as anybody else. I can't believe that I could now be eligible to be on a TV ad; holding hands, splashing through water at the beach, and beaming happily, albeit slightly dementedly, whilst staring into the distance. I could totally practice a little testimonial: "And just when I thought I was destined to turn into a crazy cat-lady (once I actually got permission to own cats), I found a soulmate who balances my chi and just totally understands my allergies to certain grass specimens." <br />
<br />
Some of you may remember my very <a href="http://turningtrixie.blogspot.com/2011/04/online-date-in-real-time.html">first internet date</a> that took place in RL (real-life, for all of you uninitiated out there), and the lad that I dubbed Tarzan (otherwise to be known as D). It turns out that even making jokes about dead bodies wasn't enough to turn this one off me.<br />
<br />
After months of staying in contact, I went to visit D in Hobart last weekend and now it's on like Donkey Kong. We have decided to give this whole long-distance thing a go, and make our telephone network providers very happy people in the meantime.<br />
<br />
The time in Hobart was awesomely fun. It was all just begging to be made into an Oasis Active advertisement montage: running through the rain while holding hands and giggling, eating sushi on top of Mount Wellington, chilling out in front of the fire, pulling out ridiculous items at op-shops and saying, "It's totally you"... Seriously, bring on the camera - we'd definitely be in the running for cutest damned couple ever.<br />
<br />
I'm smitten, I'm keen, I'm in a perpetual state of swooning, and I'm coming very close to giving my nearest and dearest the shits by continually talking about D. And all of this came about because of that funny little thing they call the internet. Who'd a thunk it?Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-24538442803393959632011-08-13T16:18:00.002+10:002011-08-13T16:23:29.884+10:00Happy Anniversary (To Me)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1080037.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My life encased in one hatchback</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
On this day, August 13th, <a href="http://turningtrixie.blogspot.com/2010/08/no-animals-were-harmed-in-making-of.html">one year ago</a>, I'd just landed in Burnie. Actually, by this point I'd gotten here, and promptly passed out from fatigue and nerves.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing car-packing tetris</td></tr>
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I'd had two days of driving from Sydney, and one night on the Spirit of Tasmania, on which I'd run amok. The ship had been delayed due to tornados, so we had a few-hour wait in the Spirit carpark. I made a new friend who I went to dinner with, and once aboard the ship we made a point of visiting every bar, singing along with the lounge singers, playing arcade games, pretending to be pirates, and just generally acting like we were 13 year olds who were able to legally drink. It was great.<br />
<br />
But as I drove into Burnie, the general seediness and fatigue faded into a minor panic over the fact that I had no idea where I was. I had no bearings. I didn't know where certain roads lead. Hell, I didn't even know which one was MY road. I deliberately hadn't done any research on the place ("It's going to all be like one big surprise!! Tee hee..."), so I'd had no idea what to expect. That day, and that day only, was the time when I freaked out about my spontaneous decision to move. I was scared, I was tired, and I really wanted some eggs on toast.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1080054.jpg" /></a></div><br />
And here I am. One year later, still going. I've had the most incredible opportunities thrown my way - things that I never could have anticipated. I've been involved in an inspirational craft group, I'm part of an awesomely fun and funky <a href="http://www.facebook.com/MadeWithLoveMarketBazaar">market</a>, I have a job that I really dig (even after a spectacular lack of coordination at the <a href="http://turningtrixie.blogspot.com/2011/03/working-9-to-5.html">interview</a>), I'm part of the blogging world, I'm back into graphic design... hell, I've even been <a href="http://turningtrixie.blogspot.com/2011/02/come-here-often.html">online dating</a>. I feel so lucky that this has worked out so well, and I have absolutely no illusions about the fact that every move would be this good. I'm just one of the lucky ones.<br />
<br />
I think one of the hardest things about moving is removing yourself from your social circle, your comfort zone of friends, and trying to start afresh. It's bloody hard. It can also lead to moments of desperation, and extending chance encounters with chatty people into one hour dialogues. Those poor bastards - they had no idea what was coming.<br />
<br />
My first friend that I made was, of course, the lovely <a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/">Michelle</a>. After being here for a few weeks, I thought "new home, new hair colour", so I took myself down to the local hairdresser. I sat nervously while waiting for my appointment, and then tried not to be too unco whilst settling myself in the hairdresser's chair. I anxiously tried to come up with small talk, hoping against hope that I wouldn't come across as a tool. Until my friendly hairdresser leaned over, and whispered conspiratorially into my ear.<br />
<br />
"Do you sew?"<br />
<br />
It was stitching-love at first sight. Gone were the nerves - I talked crap like nobodies business. She tried to deter me by burning the back of my neck with peroxide, but it didn't work. She was stuck with me. And from that chance encounter, I became part of Stitch 'N' Bitch, and we started the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/MadeWithLoveMarketBazaar">Made With Love markets</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/montage-1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
And that's what makes me lucky. I've met so many like-minded people since moving here, and have been able to prioritise the things that are really important to me. I've been given the chance to start again, and although I've still found myself in a few muddles, for the most part I'm relishing the challenge.<br />
<br />
So hurray for one year - I hope that the next brings just as much goodness as the last. With or without peroxide burns.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/nowhereelse1.jpg" /></a></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-23967661083897649482011-08-07T11:04:00.000+10:002011-08-07T11:04:07.911+10:00Getting Out Of My Head<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_913606937" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/tumblr_l6bkexwxa11qac6sjo1_400_large.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/13015045">{Image}</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
Ok, so, after having had my little whinge/flip out/existential crisis in a public forum <a href="http://turningtrixie.blogspot.com/2011/08/when-all-else-fails.html">yesterday</a>, I'm feeling a bit better today. I spent a while last night taking deep breaths (of caffeine and nicotine), and wondering why the hell I was getting so worked up. And why I hadn't thought to buy more cigarettes after work.<br />
<br />
Something that a friend and I had been discussing the other night came to mind - that sometimes it's too easy to get stuck inside your own head, and I think that's never more true than if you are a creative kind of kid. Being creative constantly forces you to challenge yourself, whether you're aware of it or not. You're thinking of new and innovative ways to do things, new designs, old ways to do new things, new ways to do old things, and your mind is constantly ticking over with all of this and more. <br />
<br />
Add to that the usual concerns about how you look/think/sound, and you could end up a big bag of crazy. Like me.<br />
<br />
Something, however, that calmed my fraying nerves was reading other people's blogs. There's something in the air at the moment - a lot of creatives seem to be going through exactly the same thing, and getting too much inside their own heads.<br />
<br />
So I say - let go. Be the little free-range creative that you know you are. Sure, being creative can be stressful as hell, especially if there's a deadline. Or dinner needs to be cooked, the washing STILL hasn't been done, and you seem to have lost one of your kids. Or you have to attend work, and you've used all of your allocated brain power there, and now you're just running on standby.<br />
<br />
This is what makes creating so satisfying in the end. It's why we do what we do. Because it's stressful, it's challenging, and when it works, it's euphoric, and we can be smug as much as we like.<br />
<br />
Because we made that.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-71168298126197956362011-08-06T14:50:00.000+10:002011-08-06T14:50:40.133+10:00When All Else Fails<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/scream.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Recently I was lucky enough to have a freelance graphic design job fall into my lap.<br />
<br />
It brought about many emotions - pride, excitement, slight stress, motivation... and fear. A giant heaping bucketful of fear.<br />
<br />
I haven't done design work for a fair while now, except for myself and friends, and they're pretty much obliged to say nice things. So I've been floating around in my slightly delusional state thinking that I'm competent. But now that it's come to the point where somebody will pay cash for my services in the design field, I'm not going to lie to you - I'm terrified.<br />
<br />
What if I stuff it up? What if something that I think looks great actually looks like the demented scrawlings of a monkey on illegal substances? What if something that I think is a really, super-dooper, freaking clever idea, is in fact twee, sentimental, and vomit-worthy? What if I can't stop asking questions, and I end up having to be taken to the vet and shot?<br />
<br />
I've started, at least. I have a few designs under my belt, but I've reached a point where my idea just ISN'T WORKING, and apart from desperately searching the net for inspiration, and headbutting the table, I don't know what to do. <br />
<br />
Taking some deep breaths might help.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-30938195719766716742011-08-04T21:30:00.000+10:002011-08-04T21:30:40.762+10:00Chicks Dig Scars<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/IMG_7687.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shiny bits in my head</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I dig piercings. Piercings lead to scars. Maybe one day chicks will dig me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve always been into piercings. My Mum has been less enthralled with my passion, but every now and then I’ll feel the need to go get something new pierced through my skin. I figure that due to my unfortunate un-coordinated nature, and occasionally ill-advised decision making (I put my foot in a heater when I was a little tyke), I’ll end up with plenty of scars anyway. What’s a few more?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My latest piercing acquisition is in fact not a new one, but a change to an old one. When I was 16 I stretched out my ear, and over the years have gone up a couple of millimeters. For ages I was at 10mm, but the last time I was Sydney I decided to go the next step, taking me up to 12mm. So I bought me a 12mm tunnel*, and thought I was all set.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The last time I went up a size, I just pushed the bigger tunnel through without too much difficulty. This time was not to be as easy. But that’s cool, I can deal with that. I thought that I’d buy a stretcher^ for my ear, and do it gradually.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Initial thoughts: I’ll buy a stretcher as inconspicuous as possible, so that if I’m wearing it at work it’s not noticeable.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Process: Ok, so I’ll just have a look-see on E-Bay, and see if I can get something clear and not too obvious…. OH MY GOD THERE’S ONE WITH BLING!! I WANT THE BLING! IWANTITIWANTITIWANTIT!!!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Result: I received the stretcher. I put it in. I looked like what The Offspring were talking about with Pretty Fly For A White Guy, if the guy was in fact a chick, and if that chick were hoping to be gangster and hardcore. It was 12mm of bling, right there in my earlobe, with a tapered end long enough to be used as some sort of eye-gouging device.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You only wish that you could be this cool</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
In hindsight, I can spot my mistake. I was on E-Bay – at night time. Time plays a major factor in regretful online purchases. I’m normally very aware of the time, and try to limit any purchasing after certain times, but this one slipped by me. It also reinforced my rule – no shopping after 9pm.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Needless to say, I rocked the gangster look for about one day, shocked the hell out of somebody with it, and then swapped over to the tunnel. I’ve learnt my lesson – the hard way.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>How about you? Have you participated in any late-night shopping that you regret?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">*A flesh tunnel, also known as a spacer, is a type of body piercing jewellery. It is also sometimes referred to as a spool, fleshy, earlet, expander or eyelet. Wearers generally use them to show off the process of stretching that they have gone through.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">^An ear stretcher is a round spike with a tapered end. Pushing the spike gradually through the ear stretches the piercing to the desired size.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-90425761610494783012011-08-04T17:48:00.000+10:002011-08-04T17:48:07.307+10:00Playing Pretend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/1h1oRP7FfBw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
I'm hoping that if I pretend hard enough, the rain and dismal weather will go away, and it'll all become a sunny afternoon.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-3968836695426481412011-07-29T19:33:00.000+10:002011-07-29T19:33:09.188+10:00I've Got That Holiday FeelingWell. I’ve been greatly slack in regards to blogging lately. I haven’t even got a note from my Mum – I’m tardy with no viable reason. I’d say that there are not enough hours in the day, but surely if I cut down to about 4 hours of sleep a night, I’d be able to get things done. Don’t worry – I’m working on it.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090633.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the past couple of weeks, I have worked, attended meetings (see how official I sound?), embarrassed myself in front of the Minister for Tourism, and been back to Sydney to catch up with my friends and family. I’d have to say that the holiday was the highlight, although proving myself as a noob in front of a politician runs a close second.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090680.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The trip, as always, was hectic and fun. I managed to squeeze in a lot of socialising, a bit of shopping, some soapbox moments, and some fabulous café meals. Some of the highlights included:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090705.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">+ A System of a Down sing-along with my friend Jake. We used to have these every time we were in the car together, but now that we're living on different islands it makes it a bit difficult. We're obviously getting older though - Jake ran out of breath halfway through a song and had to take a minute to regroup. Sigh. Getting older is a bitch.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090777.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">+ Dinner with my Mum, Uncle, Aunty and her partner. And Jake. The funniest moment (albeit possibly traumatising for Jake) was when my Aunt licked her finger, touched herself, and then made a sizzling noise. Yeah, I come from hot stock, people.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090731.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">+ Dropping a wad of cash at a shop in Springwood, and having a chat with the chick behind the counter. We got into a discussion about Burnie (as you do) and she was telling me about how she'd been to the Makers Workshop, and spoken to this lovely artist there. You might have heard of her. It was none other than <a href="http://www.avylovesned.com/">Jaci Poke</a>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090693.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090690.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">+ Watching TV with Tibby, Elyse and John. There were bad shows, bad jokes, and elbow wrestling matches (accompanied by suitable dramatic music).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090765.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">+ Spending time with one of my favourite little families. Amie, James and Lucian are always on my list of people to catch up with. The little dude Lucian is turning one tomorrow (!), and Amie is carrying the next little bundle addition to their family. Always a pleasure, always funny, and more often than not includes reggae music and bad dancing (on my behalf). I also managed to get slapped in the face with the skin that had formed on my hot drink. I can't even begin to describe the gag-worthy effects of this.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090768.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">+ A night at the pub in Penriff. My friend Amee came up with a new religion that I just KNOW is going to take off. We planned the promotional posters and everything. We also regaled each other with stories from days of old, and tried unsuccessfully to deflect the attentions of a highly inebriated young Navy boy. It's an oxymoron, isn't it? We were as surprised as anyone else.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090747.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was fairly knackered by the time I left. Especially when you count in travel time, and everything else. On the flight home, I started dozing. It was quite restful, sitting there curled underneath my coat, listening to the murmur of other people talking, and the rustling of page turning. For the duration of the trip I zoned in and out of consciousness, and eventually fell into a sinking, deep sleep.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090653.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then we landed. I snorted awake, realised that my mouth had been open, and I'd therefore possibly been drooling. I reassured myself that I didn't know anybody on the plane, and stepped back onto Tasmanian soil.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090771.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello home.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-24172384977774493452011-07-10T14:28:00.001+10:002011-07-10T21:38:35.069+10:00The Creative MindAfter some thorough (questionable), thought-provoking (REALLY questionable) self-analysis (narcissism), I have come to the conclusion that the creative mind (or this one, at least) has a few different easily-distinguishable stages that it goes through on a regular basis. There are gray, in-between areas, but these are the more common moments.<br />
<br />
Now, get comfy people. Dr Trixie is here to help.<br />
<br />
<b>Stage 1:</b> Unmotivated, and guilty. This stage involves a lot of self-recrimination, because you have TIME to do things. A valuable commodity, time can be rare. And having time to do something, well. That's about as frequent as the whole blue moon, pig-flying phenomenon. But you don't feel like doing anything. Either you just can't be bothered, or your head is emptier than... something really empty. Cue the guilt.<br />
<br />
<b>Stage 2:</b> Over-motivated. You have ideas. You have hundreds of ideas. And ALL OF THEM WILL BE AWESOME. But there comes the problem - what do you do first? You may go to start one project, and then realise that something else would be more timely to make. So you start that. And think about the other equally timely project you could be working on. And you work yourself into a state of stillness and confusion, simply because there are so many things to start, and you are only one person. Is the world really ready for that much awesomeness?<br />
<br />
<b>Stage 3:</b> Creative on crack. This is the most productive of the three stages, because the ideas are there. The motivation is there. You might even have time to get things done. Everything somehow magically aligns, and you are fuelling yourself with caffeine (or your addiction of choice) and crafting like a person possessed. <br />
<br />
After a few weeks of swinging between Stage 1 and Stage 2, I hit Stage 3 the other day. And it was good. So good.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090612.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I'm going back to Sydney in a week, and I had a list of projects that I wanted to get finished before I went. I had my doubts as to whether I'd even finish the first project I was working on before I went.<br />
<br />
After seeing a rad scarf in Frankie magazine, I thought, I can make that. So I picked up a crochet hook, pretended that I knew what I was doing, and started a scarf.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090600.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Then the crack stage kicked in. I finished the scarf. I altered a dress. I made a new handbag. I altered another dress. I bought wool to start making another scarf. I drank a lot of coffee.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090605.jpg" /></a></div><br />
And soon, I was sitting amidst the debris of fabric scraps, stray pieces of cotton, and machinery, looking at my broken overlocker needle, and dizzily wondering what the hell had just happened.<br />
<br />
Stage 3, my friends. She is a hard but fair task-mistress.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-16163831051309537332011-07-03T13:53:00.000+10:002011-07-03T13:53:33.545+10:00Junk Mail Junkie<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/eveleigh-mailbox-junk-mail-wanted-um.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{<a href="http://www.walksydneystreets.net/surprises_mailboxes06.htm">Image</a>}</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I love junk mail. I do. I eagerly await every new week of fresh new publications for my perusal. I get a feeling of giddy glee when I hear the pitter patter of the feet of the junk mail fairy (heavy, thudding footsteps, interspersed with some dragging, of the lady who is married to our gardener, Tony. We call her Mrs. Tony) delivering my beloved catalogues right to our door.<br />
<br />
There is a frenzy when I first get them in the house, to discern the value of each catalogue, and how many in the pile are worth looking at. I know no disappointment like that of finding only Coles and Woolworths catalogues. Food? FOOD?!? I care not for this rubbish that you wish to force upon me. How am I supposed to daydream about lamb? I want to daydream about cowl necks, and envision myself in a room with THAT lamp in it. I want to imagine having an unlimited supply of money, and being able to buy everything that I want from the catalogue. I want.... well, everything really.<br />
<br />
Yes, I'm aware that I am enforcing a culture of consumerism. Yes, I know that the paper used to create such publications hurts the environment and baby Jesus, and that I will more than likely burn in hell (on top of a pile of Coles catalogues). <br />
<br />
I just don't care. It's an addiction. It somehow always knows what it is that my heart truly desires, and it delivers. It just gets me.<br />
<br />
Like this week's offering from the altar of cut-price goods...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/topiary.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Isn't that amazing? Here I was thinking, just the other day, about how my life was lacking because I didn't yet own my very own Solar Powered Mini Topiary Tree TM. A Box Hedge - sure. I've had one for years. But that shit's old hat. Topiary is the way of the future.<br />
<br />
Junk mail, I love you so.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-50310506425368340022011-06-22T22:57:00.000+10:002011-06-22T22:57:40.018+10:00With Legs Aquiver<b>Style Crush</b><br />
<br />
Ramona from Scott Pilgrim VS The World. I watched this movie for the first time the other day, and got a few giggles, but the main high point for me was being introduced to the style of Ramona Flowers. And now I realise where I've been going wrong all of these years. Now on my shopping list: awesome boots, awesome tights, and an awesome sweater. Don't worry - I'm all over it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/michael-cera.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/mary-winstead-scott-pilgrim-pic.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/mary-winstead-michael-cera-scott-pilgrim-pic.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/scott_pilgrim_vs_the_world_movie_image_michael_cera_mary_elizabeth_winstead_01.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b>Blog Crush(es)</b> <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://thebeetleshack.blogspot.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/beetleshack_header-1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
The other day whilst doing some blog-hopping (a time consuming sport, characterised by procrastination and numerous cups of coffee) I came across the wonder that is <a href="http://thebeetleshack.blogspot.com/">The Beetle Shack</a>. A bit crafty, a lot arty, funny, warm and a member of the cutest damn family you'll ever see, Emily is pretty awesome.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://timcoulson.blogspot.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/logo2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
And of course, from her blog I hopped on over to <a href="http://timcoulson.blogspot.com/">Tim Coulson</a>. Tim is a photographer over on the mainland, and his photography is just incredible. Not only that, but he's a fab writer too. He does the sweetest family photos. It just makes me want to steal a child and a man, so that I can have rad family portraits like that.<br />
<br />
<b>Artist Crush</b><br />
<br />
Again, a result of site/blog-hopping. I stumbled across the ridiculously talented <a href="http://courtneybrims.blogspot.com/">Courtney Brims</a>. A Brisbane-girl, she holds more talent than it is surely healthy to. I've fallen head over heels for her artworks, and bought a set of her greeting cards so that I can hang them on my wall. My favourite artwork involves a rabbit, a flower, and a teacup. Honestly, is there any other way to combine so much coolness in one spot??<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://courtneybrims.blogspot.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/IMGaa.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://courtneybrims.blogspot.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/W44.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://courtneybrims.blogspot.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/img097a.jpg" /></a></div><br />
{Images from <a href="http://courtneybrims.blogspot.com/">Courtney Brims</a>}<b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Fictional Character Crush</b><br />
<br />
Because every well-adjusted person gets a crush on a fictional character. Jon Marshall from the Nick Earls' novel Perfect Skin is just.... dreamy. Well-written, he's got a dry sense of humour, he's intelligent, he's complex (but not ridiculously so), and best of all - he looks however I want him to.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/9780670891047.jpg" /></a></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-85904001876702603712011-06-22T20:46:00.000+10:002011-06-22T20:46:12.455+10:00Liebster Award<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/Liebster-Blog-Award.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The other day I was awarded the Liebster Award by the awesome <a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/">Michelle</a>.<br />
<br />
The Liebster Award <i>"is given to blogs by other bloggers who have fewer than 300 followers and who the blogger feels deserves a lot more recognition and following than what they currently get. Once you receive/accept the award the idea is to pass it on to other bloggers who you feel are also lacking in the recognition they deserve."</i><br />
<br />
It made me go a little "aw shucks... who, me?" as I scuffed my foot in the dirt. A big thank you to <a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/">Michelle</a> for the shout out, and now to pay it forward.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://isismade.blogspot.com/">Isismade</a> - A Launceston blogger who has good words, good photos, and a rockin' sense of style. <br />
<br />
Jaci from <a href="http://avylovesned.blogspot.com/">Avy Loves Ned</a> - A fellow <a href="http://www.facebook.com/MadeWithLoveMarketBazaar">Made With Love</a> market lady who makes the most incredible jewellery. I encourage you to buy her stuff, so that you can look awesome. I did it, and it totally works.<br />
<i> </i><br />
Thank you to everybody who drops by the read my blog as well. Blogging has been a great experience, and such an inspiring thing to do.<br />
<br />
Thank you, cyber world!!<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
*throws down microphone and walks off stage*<i><br />
</i>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-80466316565084193692011-06-13T13:52:00.000+10:002011-06-13T13:52:31.125+10:00In A Land Far, Far Away<i><b>"A land called Wynyard. We held a market. It was rad.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i><br />
<i><b>And they lived happily ever after.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i><br />
<i><b>The end."</b></i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/246986_155432597859779_114701738599532_329713_3934005_n-1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Our June Made With Love Market Bazaar was last Saturday, and as always, it was a great day. The dress-up theme this month was Children's Storybook Characters. It was our eighth (!) Made With Love, and it just feels like we're growing in leaps and bounds. We're getting an incredible response from the community, and it's just the best feeling to be surrounded by so many crafty folks one day a month - I feel like I could burst from all the warm and fuzziness happening. But I won't - bursting is most unbecoming for a lady.<br />
<br />
The other thing that has been great is to not only be a part of the markets, but to be part of the behind-the-scenes action. Yes, sometimes we get a bit cranky pants. Yes, sometimes we just want all of the admin work to go away. But really, it's just us networking with the aforementioned crafty folk, and you can't be cranky pants about that, can you?<br />
<br />
It's also kind of novel to have to prepare yourself for a dress-up once a month. This month's preparation went something along these lines:<br />
<br />
<b>A month beforehand -</b> Have idea to dress as Puss In Boots. Feel very smug with self that in order to dress as this character, I only need to buy ears and a tail.<br />
<br />
<b>2 weeks beforehand -</b> Purchase ears and tail. Continue feeling smug with self.<br />
<br />
<b>4 days beforehand -</b> Curse self for not thinking outfit through completely. All well and good to have ears, tail and boots, but general decency and social niceties require me to cover up the bits in between. Panic.<br />
<br />
<b>3 days beforehand -</b> Call Mum late at night, requesting her to express post a shirt that I'm sure I left in a suitcase at her place. Or in the wardrobe. It's possibly in the set of drawers...<br />
<br />
<b>2 days beforehand - </b>Curse stupid self.<br />
<br />
<b>Day of market -</b> Sleep in. Realise have hit snooze button 3 too many times. Have shower. Realise that nose ring has fallen out during the night. Search bedding for nose ring. Curse stupid self. Find nose ring. Attempt to put back in nose. Have sneezing fit. Sit down for a minute to regain composure. Try again. Cue second sneezing fit. End up getting facial bling in. Hurriedly get dressed. Draw on crooked whiskers with liquid eyeliner. Run out door. Forget about attached tail when sitting in car. Awkward moment.<br />
<br />
So, as you can see, being a marketing crafter is quite an involved business. It is not for the fainthearted.<br />
<br />
And now that you've been educated, onto the photos...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/252869_155432347859804_114701738599532_329698_7417284_n-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sweetmiacreations">Sweet Mia</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/251322_155433394526366_114701738599532_329763_4777984_n-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lorise from Clever Zebra Designs. Totally cute as Heidi.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/249863_155433247859714_114701738599532_329753_560139_n-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/">Rock My Roll</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
This particular dress-up gave us great scope to make a lot of jokes, bad puns, and misquote things. And when I say we, I mean me. But you knew that.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/251231_155431751193197_114701738599532_329690_7575758_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandra from <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Grace-of-Autumn/137765329629738">Grace of Autumn</a> & Wendy</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/254143_155431734526532_114701738599532_329689_4790885_n-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisa from Lisaloo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We ended up having a Red Riding Hood (<a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/">Michelle - Rock My Roll</a>), Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz (<a href="http://wonkawashspelledbackwards.blogspot.com/">Naomi</a>, our awesome photo taker lady), Pippi Longstockings (<a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Grace-of-Autumn/137765329629738">Sandra - Grace of Autumn</a>), Heidi (Lorise - Clever Zebra Designs), and the best surprise of all - a customer dressed as our fairy godmother. Bless her cotton magical socks.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/253911_155431797859859_114701738599532_329693_3831595_n-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Grace-of-Autumn/137765329629738">Grace of Autumn</a> goodies</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/255106_155433674526338_114701738599532_329784_2728093_n-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puss in Boots getting all swordy on <a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/">Red Riding Hood</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/249459_155433844526321_114701738599532_329793_4808876_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wonkawashspelledbackwards.blogspot.com/">Naomi</a> as Dorothy</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
To see more of the awesome shots that <a href="http://wonkawashspelledbackwards.blogspot.com/">Naomi</a> got, check out our <a href="http://www.facebook.com/MadeWithLoveMarketBazaar">facebook</a> page. And a big thank you to Naomi for the photos, and everybody who supports our lovely little crafty day. We hope to see y'all next time!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-3636623001817494182011-06-12T22:49:00.000+10:002011-06-12T22:49:36.549+10:00Under The WeatherEvery time I feel a wee bit unwell (at the moment I have a bad case of the sniffles) I feel homesick. I miss my Mum, I miss my cat, I miss my friends, I miss Krispy Kreme... the list goes on. Until I remember that Krispy Kreme not only hurts my wallet, but my waistline. Then I just miss everything else.<br />
<br />
To add insult to injury, when I moved here from New South Wales, I didn't have enough room in my car to bring my photo albums down. So I can't even have a proper sad attack whilst flipping through some oldies. I can only go through the more recent photos on my external hard drive. <br />
<br />
To that end, I thought that I'd do a bit of a flashback here; being that really annoying lady who shows you the slides from their holidays, and expects you to stay awake through the whole thing. I'm watching you... eyes open! Now, this is when Roger and I....<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/Picture011-1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
+ A road trip in the Blue Mountains that involved a look out, Dr Pepper, and soluble Panadol. My car was never quite as clean afterwards, but it was so damned funny at the time that I had to do an emergency park on the side of the highway to laugh. And then try and clean up the Dr Pepper.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1040076.jpg" /></a></div><br />
+ Newtown, Sydney. I've spent a few days traipsing around Newtown, photographing all of the street art there. Down every side street and alley is more awesome graf, and really inspiring art.<br />
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+ Tim Rogers at the White Album gig at the Sydney Opera House. The first time I'd ever stepped foot in the Opera House, the first time I'd ever seen Tim Rogers, Chris Cheney, Phil Jamieson or Josh Pyke, and the first time I'd ever used a hotel vault. Brilliant.<br />
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+ The day that my housemate, Mitch, and I palette-wrapped our other housemates car for his birthday.<br />
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+ My cousin's pug, Harper, as a little fella. This was probably the only moment that he wasn't excitedly clambering over everybody, and biting any exposed skin. <br />
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+ Giving a drunken speech at my friend's farewell party. It went something along the lines of, "Now, we all know that Monica is awesome, and she's awesome... yeah, YOU'RE awesome!" *break down into tears* <br />
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+ Cruising behind a road train on a road trip from Darwin to Sydney. It's one thing to know about the existence of road trains. It's another thing to actually see a road train. It's another thing, yet again, to overtake a road train. That's when shit gets real.<br />
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+ A photo shoot that Mitch and I had to prove for once and all that we weren't a couple. This came shortly after being spotted in a shopping centre by my friend's sister, bickering about the colour of a throw rug we'd just bought. I was adamant that I wasn't having that colour blue in my house.<br />
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+ One of my only (successful) attempts at domesticity - some biscuits for Halloween. I made sure that I made extra for my housemates, so that they wouldn't touch the good ones.<br />
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+ My Aunty Colleen and Mum at my Uncle's birthday do. No amusing anecdote... I just really heart this pic.<br />
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So, THEN Roger ate the clams, and he was crook in the stomach all the way back. I tell you, never buy clams from the boot of a car...Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-799866110435332072011-06-06T14:45:00.002+10:002011-06-06T19:21:49.387+10:00Say Yes To Mediocrity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/P1090550.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Last night I couldn’t get to sleep so, for the first time in years, I propped myself up in bed and drew. Drawing used to be one of my big hobbies – my fingers would itch to document things to paper, and whilst I wasn’t great at the whole shading thing, I gave it a damn good crack. I loved it, and it was a big part of me for a long time. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last night I recaptured some of that feeling. I was excited about what I was doing, and was so lost in what I was doing that my face started hurting because I was doing my concentration face (it involves pouting) for so long. I acted like a pro with my pencil, I used my little paintbrush with a flourish, and I smudged things to my heart’s content.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Don’t get me wrong – it turned out pretty shit. I was never very good at drawing, and I’m rusty. I never had a chance of churning out a masterpiece. That’s not my point.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My point is – how often do we set out to do something, not because we’re good at it, or even when we know we’re pretty bad at it, but we do it just because we like it? It’s too easy to get caught up striving to be the best at what we do. There’s nothing wrong with that – there’s a lot to be said for ambition. But how about just every now and then, letting your hair down, and doing a dodgy job of something? Go bake that lopsided cake, do that DIY work that will fall apart in a week, and do a painting that doesn't actually resemble anything in particular, and love every moment of it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">PS. This blog post does not mean that I’m encouraging <a href="http://turningtrixie.blogspot.com/2011/01/doily-splat.html">doily splat</a>. I’m not. Stop it.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5691160847736696665.post-87549710477579652172011-05-26T18:15:00.000+10:002011-05-26T18:15:52.336+10:00That’s Frock-tacular<div class="MsoNormal">A couple of weeks ago, I made a very big decision. It was a difficult one, and one that can’t be made on the spur of the moment. But when I thought about it, I realised that I’m old enough, I have a steady job, and I have a good support network, if I need it. And I’ve wanted this for so long that it just made sense.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I took the plunge.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I bought an overlocker.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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And I’m just so happy. I’ve named her Sadie, and she fits in perfectly with my crafting family (Stella, my sewing machine, and Wallace the sewing kit). I was even tempted to do a little naming ceremony, where I uttered the words, “And I dub thee…. Sadie.” but I couldn’t find my knitting needle so that I could tap both of her shoulders. Even if I’d found my knitting needle, I’d have had to find her shoulders. And I couldn’t be bothered.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That doesn’t stop me from singing, “Sadie, the stitching laaaay-deeee.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I decided that I needed a Sadie-specific project, instead of endlessly overlocking scrap pieces of fabric, so I went down to Spotlight to seek inspiration (read: spend money), and I came across the most gorgeous vintage-style fabric. It reminded me that I’ve had a dress pattern sitting in my drawer for about 7 months now, and that it’s probably time to make it. Fabric was purchased, and dress was made.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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The dress took longer than I thought it would, basically because I always mistakenly start projects with the idea that I am invincible. I am not. I was also trying to be really neat and precise with my cutting/sewing/darts, because it’s not often that I use proper paper patterns, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On the topic of darts – they are the devil’s work. They are right up there with unpicking buttonholes, and I do not much care for them. Get them wrong, and you end up looking like Madonna in her Vogue period. Why must they be so damned hard to mark onto the fabric? I was sticking pins through the pattern, and then marking on the fabric with chalk where the pin was. I was hoping that I was actually doing it the wrong way, that there’s actually a way easier way to do it. I ran it past <a href="http://michellewalkerdesigns.blogspot.com/">Michelle</a> and <a href="http://www.baby-boudoir.com/">Claire</a>, and it turns out that I was doing it the right way. I cried.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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Following that, once I slip-stitched my finger to the zipper, I stopped caring quite as much. My original plan had been to add a peter pan collar to the dress (I’m totally digging peter pan collars at the moment), but when the point came to add it, I decided that I just wanted to finish the damn thing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In hindsight, it probably would have looked better with something there. A placket would have been great. Or maybe some pockets on the side. I don’t know – something starting with ‘p’ and ending in ‘cket’.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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Anyway, dress is finished. It even looks like the picture on the front of the pattern. I’ve proved it to myself. Yay me. Blah blah blah.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And it’s all because of…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sadie, the stitching laaaaaay-deeeeeeee.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i789.photobucket.com/albums/yy173/turning_trixie/overlocker.jpg" /></a></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696921574138365343noreply@blogger.com4