a wingspan unbelievable i'm a festival i'm a parade

This time last week, I was comfortably immersed in a bottle of white wine. This is tradition for all Barton Birthdays once you turn 18, unless you are my father - in which case you immerse yourself in three martinis, two bottles of white, one red, one sticky. Me, on the other hand, spent the weekend quaffing Pimms and Lemonade, Champagne and Sauvignon Blanc. I am nothing if not classy.

My Festival Of Me began on Friday June 5th, when I careened into my final tutorials for International Relations and English. Being the last day of semester, we were doing something 'relaxed' and 'fun.' Trivia competitions. I gave the 'relaxed' and the 'fun' the stink eye by winning both and going home to far more chocolate than should be humanly possible to digest. I passed out into a chocolate induced coma for a few hours before dragging my mother into the city to see Disgrace (detailed in my previous blog entry). We had a nice time out, my mother admitting that I looked 'nice'. High praise indeed. And we had no arguments, which is akin to Israel and Palestine suddenly having a giant party together. Most mother daughter relations are like that.

Saturday began with the instigation of what may become a new tradition. Oh, who am I kidding? Clearly what I did Saturday morning is a habit of mine every time I'm hungry but don't feel like eating in the city. I went to Max Brenner and had a large Italian. um. Large Italian Thick Dark Hot Chocolate. That's possibly better than a Large Italian, to be honest. Then I saw Overlord (again, see previous blog entry), which was in the freeeeeezing Art Gallery of NSW Theatre. I defrosted myself by charging through the sun drenched Domain and into Myer where I solved a sartorial challenge that had been plaguing my mother and brother in less than 5 minutes. My mother was in a tizzy as my brother owns no 'smart clothing'. They had been traipsing through the Sydney shops trying to find a coat that "wasn't expensive, but warm, but not overly la-dee-dah", because Jeremy has a tendency to 'lose' things (ie put them down and never pick them up but instead continue on his merry way until someone points out that he's missing something, by which time its too late to go back) They had been at this for a good hour before I showed up and produced a nifty peacoat off a rack that they had missed. Not expensive, not la-dee-dah (whatever that means, my mother has her own language). Done. Over. Shopping for me time. Which meant going to KIT, my absolute favourite make up store ever. The lovely Amber covered my face in stuff, I don't know what, possibly Spackle, glitter and concrete. I looked awesome. And then I went to see YovankAH, my hairdresser, who tutted at my fringe, which came to my top lip "this stopped being a fringe along time ago, darling". She chopped, dyed and spruced my hair. Then she spent half an hour shouting at my hair to make it stay in Victory Curls. One can of hairspray later, with instructions to spray more hairspray as soon as possible. There was no way my hair was going to change for about three years. There might be a new hole in the ozone layer because of my vanity.


But I looked AWESOME. And once I got home, got some red lippy on, my fantastic Glasgow Dress, I was ready for a night on the town.

This is me, having a good night out. After several drinks and several drinks (hence the shiny). Note my total awesomeness, which would lead you to think that I know how to swing dance, right? Well, I don't. I made an idiot of myself. But everyone at the Roxbury was very lovely, and Libby Bre Lizzle and I were asked to dance by many lovely boys, including this guy
Dead serious, Roux from Chocolat was there. And woah. He totally didn't mind how rubbish I was, mostly because Bre Libby and Lizzle all have some semblance of coordination (which gets suspiciously better as they get drunker). So we danced alllllllll night. And drank. The music was fantastic old big band swing music, which is my new favourite dancing music. Libby and I discussed the merits of building a time machine in order to go back in time, learn how to swing dance, come back and wow Roux, as well as the guy who sort of looked like the one Jonas Bother who isn't totally creepy. Eventually we danced our way out of the Roxbury, heartsandheads buzzing, feet a flutter and grins on our faces.

I staggered home, couldn't be bothered to attempt dismantling my hair. I went to sleep, fully expecting to awaken to a giant frizzball in the morning.



Instead, I awoke to my hair looking exactly the same. Not a hair out of place. Which was slightly creepy, really. So I spent Sunday, the 7th of June, my last day of being 20, terrified that moving would mean my hair would fall apart and be an irreversible mess. The thought of washing it never even entered my little hungover head.

Sunday Night, I descended upon the Shakespeare with Lizzle, her boyfriend The Beard, Libby, Kathryn, Kirstin and Danny. I wanted a quiet boozy night full of laughter and adoration for me. Which I got, mostly by dint of bringing my own cake.


Thats Libby and I, along with my Victory Curls. And my cake


And there we are again! How lovely!
I demanded they all sing Happy Birthday to me, which they did. I don't think I could have grinned much more.

We had a splendid time, so much better than being in some seedy bar with people I haven't seen in years who I don't really like, with speeches about drunken things I've done. Instead, everyone shared stories of their favourite Maddie Moments, the best being Kirstin's tale of our school camping adventures, when we cried over tent pegs which wouldn't go in the frozen ground.
Then when we did get the pegs in, the tent blew over in the night.

I was very lucky in the presents given to me by my friends.
Libby gave me a sonic screwdriver pen:



Kathryn gave me 21 pairs of stockings:

Bre gave me a screenpainting, which I think is an interpretation of me:

and Lizzle gave me much swag:


a Bartons Almond Kisses Tin
(which has inspired me to make some Almond Kisses)

Babooooshka Earrings
(made by Lizzle)


Dinosaur Buttons!!!
I can't wait to put these on something...
I'm thinking a skirt and cardigan set?


A MUSTACHE NECKLACE
presumably given to try to get me to stop
whinging about Brandon Flowers lack of facial hair.
Sorry Lizzle, I'm still distraught.


A bag that she MADE.
GAH. When I opened this, I was gobsmacked that someone
would go to that much effort. For me?


A new ipod case. It looks like it has a face! And is cuddly!

Lizzle also made me a beautiful swing skirt, but I haven't got photos of it yet. But suffice to say, I was completely blown away by the effort she went to.
She's truly wonderful, and I'd be saying that regardless of what she gave me.
(I just wish she'd let me take a photo of her and me!!!)

So after that giftage orgy (although Lizzle gave me presents on tuesday) I once again staggered home, having drunk much more than I thought I had. I did however manage to dismantle my victory curls. I am determined to master them and wear them at least once a week.

On the morning of my 21st birthday, my mother woke me up.
By jumping on me, and squealing in her own brand of crazy-mum-talk.
I responded by burping in her face.
She told me that I hadn't been born yet.

Faced with that existential crisis ( I was born at 6.30 am in the UK, which is like, 7pm in Sydney, so when do I get to celebrate my birthday?) I went to see Sunshine Barry and The Disco Worms. A toddler pulled my hair. See previous post for details. Then I went back to bed for a bit. In the evening my family took me, my new dress and my new shoes out to dinner. I wish I had better photos, but they're all on my dad's camera, and we sent him to Vienna this week (what else can you do with a dad, I wonder?) so you'll have to wait. All the photos on my camera make me look like Wednesday Adams being attacked by a parrot.

Dinner was lovely, the food grand, the wine even more grand. My family were all in fantastic moods, which is rare for us. There was much laughing, toasting of drinks to me, drinking of drinks by me. Oh, and the gift orgy continued, with money from my Grandma, itunes cards from Lisa and Daniel, a new tartan skirt from Granny & Phil (no photos as the size was a bit off, sadly), and this from the Wicked Step Aunt:

her name is Maria, and she used to be a pillowcase. She fits like a dreamyglove, and everyone is jealous of her :)

But the best present of all came from my parents.

A Limited Edition Sailor "Creatures of The Deep" Octopus Fountain Pen
no 65 of 88

I know, right?
My lust and longing for this pen began in Geneva, nearly a year ago. You can't really see how beautiful it is from these photos but it's divine.When Dad and I saw this pen, I announced that I would have it for my 21st birthday, he informed me that I'd "be lucky to get a kick up the backside".

Best thing about this pen is that (and this will sound trite) but I feel like having something so lovely to write with has given me a bit of confidence back, so my writing has been happening!

All in all, I had a brilliant birthday weekend; spending it with people who I love and care for, and who love and care for me. There was much laughter, much dancing, much nostalgia of the "remember when she did this....?" type.

I'm not one for big parties, but this? This was pretty awesome.


And I won't apologise if it looks like I'm showing off, so there.








gah. i promise i'll blog more with shakespeare's 'brevity is the soul of wit' in mind.
also, i hate photobucket and html and technology in general

brief rant re: faily tendencies

There are some websites that one must check religiously. Or as close as religiously as a heathen like me can get. There's Grrl+Dog who makes me giggle and commit to craft. There's Vixen Vintage, who is unpretentious and makes me want to work harder on my wardrobe. There's Random Got Beautiful, which inspires me. There's Twitter, which is unhealthy and addictive. There's God Is In The TV Zine, which I love and adore for their NME bashing. There's my very favourite, Etsy, which is hours of fun. And then there's my new very very favourite website, YouAreBeautiful, which I discovered in Berlin and spent hours smiling about.

Thats not really that many personal blogs that I frequent, as they tend to depress me. And Lizzle, bless her lil' cotton socks, is at fault (I lie. I'd have run into this on my own.) The poor dear has a tedious job (almost as tedious as my last one). But she has internet access all day, which means she trolls the blogging world and finds the weirdest and most wonderful things, which she passes on to me.

And then I feel like a terrible entertainer. (because I don't like the word 'blogger' or 'bloggist')
There are girls out there who provide detailed updates of the clothes they wear every day. After a while, they all look the same. Tall, clear skinned and expensively draped, with a camera that makes them look lovely. There are mothers out there who blog about their entire family, and what little squirt has eaten/vomited/destroyed today. There are pages and pages and pages dedicated to those ridiculous 'harem' pants, which I think are proof that the fashion world needs a good lie down.

Anyway, my point is, what do I blog about, really? Originally, this was a blog to track my trip through Europe, which was great in theory but quickly turned into a cesspit of Angst as I realised how dependent I am on certain people (and alsopossiblymyfavouriteteddy.) Then when I came home, it was more about giving me a platform to rant on when things went wrong.....which tends to happen to me a lot. I don't know why. Possibly it's a flaw in the universe.

And now? Now I fear this blog is boring. I keep meaning to put up things I've written about my skirts, but I kind of feel that this is narcissism. And boring? Stuff happens, and I think 'ooh, I should write that down'. But then I think it would probably go over a lot better in the pub, with the lubrication (ergh, that word is gross) of Pimms. And waving my hands around. I'm very vocal. Also the problem with pictures is that I tend to look belligerent and about forty kilos heavier.

I'm beginning to think that perhaps, what this blog really really really needs is fireworks.


Any other ideas?



ALSO. I know I just whined about fashion. BUT. My birthday is in ten days, and yesterday I ran around like a mad thing trying to organise it. On Friday, my mother and I will be going to see Disgrace at the Sydney Film Festival, then cocktails. I'm planning on wearing my year12 formal dress, which is a gorgeous Japanese red silk wrap dress that cost waaaaay too much and has been worn waaaay too little. So yesterday I took it in to be dry cleaned. And then on Saturday, it'll be a gathering of the gaggle of girls I know, hopefully for swing dancing (if I can find somewhere open on Saturday), and then hijinks at the Shakey. For this, I'm having my blue lace Glasgow Dress fixed up so that I can breathe in it!!! And then Sunday I'll be recovering. In my pjs. And then on MONDAY, IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!! I'll be at the Sydney Film Festival in the morning, and then in the evening dining with my family at the very posh Wharf Restaurant. In a divine little number thats a total secret, totally awesome and called Wednesday.

As an aside: I really like naming things, it invests them with properties and personifications. Or the opposite. When I was at Mac Uni, there was a girl in my class who shouted all the time, and a boy who wore vests all the time. They were known as Shouty Girl and Vest Boy. I have no idea what their names are to this day.

OH MY UPDATE WITHIN AN UPDATE!!! We're going to be HERE on Saturday. You should come and dance with me. I'll be the one in blue lace from Glasgow.




........oh. And I still check William Beckett's blog. Because I'm a failbot.