Things I Want To Try Out

This smokey eye makeup with glitter. 

I heart a smokey eye and I am obsessed with glitter. But not sure if I can pull off this bold look.

DIY Lace Candle Holders.

Apparently these are really simple and cheap to make. I'm dying to host a party by candlelight and think if I ever did, these would be perfect.

Messy Beehive

So I'm having a bit of a throwback phase. I think a regular beehive is a bit too much but this messy one has the perfect balance of retro and modern. Paired with a skater dress, it would be phenom.

Swing Dancing

Nothing looks as much fun as this. And I've heard about some lessons in Cape Town. But my crippling fear and lack of coordination means I'll probably never make it to the lessons.

 Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Images from here and here.

An Open Letter To Boys

What’s going on?

Seriously, have you guys been meeting to try and conjure up new plans and ways to be mean and cause girls confusion? I’ve long suspected there’s been a Boys Club where you discuss how sniffing a shirt is a good way to tell if it’s wearable for another couple of days or where you come up with new curse phrases to hurl at the TV while watching sport. Or where you decide to make a pact to all agree that a TV show is ah-mazing and stick to that notion despite evidence to the contrary (Two and a Half Men anyone?!).


A couple of things have happened recently to have my muttering WTF (and I don’t mean Why The Face). A little while ago a friend of mine went on date. She is one of my besties so I may be impartial to this description of her but it’s pretty accurate. She is a redhead with almost-porcelain skin and long legs and thighs that don’t touch (lucky whore). This was promptly ignored by the guy she was on a date with. Instead it was blatantly put out there that he’d prefer if she was a blonde, because you know he’s used to dating models and blonde princesses. He’s not btw, he’s just being douche. Now while you’re perfectly entitled to an opinion of that type, perhaps keeping it inside or rather just sharing it with your bros is better than over sushi.

Normally something like that would invoke a couple of four-letter words, you know, solidarity and the whole Ya-Ya-Sisterhood thing but it wasn’t as harsh as say the thing that recently happened to me. I recently met a boy and we’ve been sorta dating and having adult sleepovers for a couple of months now. Not serious unless compared to a Kardashian marriage but still more than casual fling. You’d think when it fizzled out and one of us had to make the call, it would be done in the right fashion, face-to-face. Not over Blackberry Messenger. Oh yes, not even a text that cost money. A free messaging service. And instead of being relieved that I wasn’t going to be the bad guy who had to it, I was pissed off I was not worth more than a BBM message. God help me if he had used an emoticon.

I know we’re living with a technological advanced world but surely some decorum still exists. If it had been a one-date thing I’d totally excuse the uncouth manner but this was a little more. Although not ideal, even a phone call would suffice. Or at least a delivery note attached to a box of cupcakes. Which I think is actually the best way to do it. While you’ll be sad reading the note, at least there’ll be something to cheer you up.

Being wounded I thought that was pretty harsh that was until I was told this gem.
A friend of mine was dumped by text.
On the dancefloor.
While the ex was next to her, dancing.
Boys, I can’t even.
There are no words.
Just don’t!

So Boys, next time you’re at your secret club and discussing how great 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner is, perhaps you could reconsider some of your moves.
Thanks, and we still love you.

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Dear Future Boyfriend, Part Eight

I’ve prepared for you to come into my life and shake up my mundane life like in Pleasantville where they discover dirty things and life changes from black and white to full-on colour. I cannot wait for that time. But I realise you may not have planned for me to enter your life. Yes, I know we’re meant to be and we complete each other but in all honestly, sharing your life, even if it’s your soul-mate can be an adjustment.

When we meet I’m kinda hoping we go straight to the honeymoon phase. And when we eventually decide to move in together (as a trial for our perfect marriage), it’s going to be “christening” the flat in every available yet comfortable surface and giggling while we unpack boxes and covering each other’s noses in toxic paint like a stock photo. What I don’t want is our crazy habits and mannerisms to get in the way so we become that awkward couple no one can bare to be around.

you and me in our first place. if i get really skinny and dye my hair and grow. but you get the gist.

To alleviate some tensions now, I’ve decided to jot down a few things I’m good at and some I’m very bad at. Just so you know, you can prepare and stuff. And in case you’re wondering, yes, being considerate is one I’m very good at. You’re welcome!

Things I’m good at:

- Pop culture references. These skills not only make my banter witty but also help when faced with the Film and Television category at pub quizzes.
- Kissing.

just the natural state of my lips. always ready for a make-out session.

- Cleaning. Not crazy obsessive but a little crazy. You’re allowed to have drinks without coasters and I won’t freak out if the dishes aren’t done. A week later I might say something though.
- Butter chicken. For reals.
- Keeping my crazy inside. You’re gonna think you’ve hit the jackpot when I don’t get jealous or freak out when you don’t call. Really I’m keeping my crazy inside so I don’t scare you off. But be careful as you’ll find out below.
- 80s song lyrics. I know an assortment from Salt-N-Pepa to the Footloose soundtrack to some Joy Division.
- Hand massages. And by hand I mean the one with five fingers. I should actually say manicures. I’ll totes soak your hands, do your cuticles and finish off with a nice buff and polish.
- Remembering to buy milk. Do not underestimate this.
- Taking off my make-up before going to bed. You’ll thank me when we’re older.
- Being nice to parents.

Things I’m bad at:

- Money. Not others which you’ll be pleased to hear. But mine. A teeny problem if we plan on having a joint account.
- Cuddling. I know I’m a bad example of the female species but I much prefer my space and love to stretch out. It’s a lot harder for me to feel comfortable if you want to spoon for several hours. I don’t fall asleep, I lie there wondering if you can feel my belly fat or whether my hair is in your face.

my perfect sleeping situation.

- Not keeping my waxing appointment. I get busy and then my favourite therapist is unavailable and I cannot just go flashing my area to just anyone and then the thought of hot wax…let’s just say there are other things I’d rather do.
- Failing to keep my crazy inside. Normally I’m quite good at it but every now and again things get too much and I go a little Courtney Love.
- Talking too much.
- Never taking out the rubbish.
- Forgetting to switch off plugs.
- Choreography. Think we’re going to have to do one of those funny Youtube wedding videos to Smack My Bitch Up because this bitch cannot waltz.
- Understanding rugby. But this won’t bother you. After all, as you’re my FB you like football.
- Eating neatly. Not a meal goes by without me spilling on my clothes or crumbs in my hair.
- Video games. Unless we’re talking about Wii. Then I kill it.

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Thailand in Pictures

First moments in Phuket after a 26 hour flight.

The beach in Patong.

The first hotel we stayed at.

Enjoying the first cocktails of the holiday.

Riding an elephant.

Chillin' with the baby elephants

Sunset cruise in Chalong.

Have to try out Starbucks.

Having fun at Phuket FantaSea

Meeting drag queens in Patong.

Skinny Bitches taking over Bangla Road.

Welcome to Phi Phi Island.

On our way to Maya Bay.

Doing our own usual of The Beach pose.

The infamous buckets.

Lanterns in Krabi.

Aonang Beach

Last night in Phuket!

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

What's The Point Of Living If You Don't Want To Dance

Thanks to a very lovely friend and her well-connected sister I was able to go and see Kylie perform in the comfort of the golden circle.




Considering that I am a huge fan but the tickets were nearing the same amount as my rent I made a grown-up decision a while ago to accept I was never going to see a pair of gold hot pants.


Yesterday that all changed.



If that wasn't enough excitement, I befriended a man at the concert who was tall and very helpful. As a result, I'm now the proud owner of these amazing pictures.





As for the show (and the buff dancers) all I can say is "Wow, wow, wow!"



Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

A Woman's Right To Shoes

For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you’ll know me as Tweets in Heels. For those who don’t, my love of shoes, particularly high heels should not be foreign to you. After all I literally write for shoes.( If you don’t believe me check out the blog I write for Bronx Ladies where I get paid in shoes).

In summary, I’m a big fan of heels.

Being blessed not only with curves and gaydar, I also am vertically challenged. Which means heels are my saving grace. I instantly go from knocking into average size people’s knees to knocking into their shoulders. Now as an avid heel wearer I must admit something. Even though I’d be nothing without them, there are times when these little beauties can hurt. I’ve found that I can usually manage a full day of heels without complaints. It’s what happens after I leave work that’s the problem. If I have a shopping errand, those fierce heels that have made my outfit start making me use four-letter words. If I go dancing and have not had the benefit of a foot massage beforehand, when you see me shouting my way through Don’t Stop Believin’ it’s really me trying to channel the pain somewhere else.

So when some angels dropped off this little number I was overjoyed.

Kiwi’s Smiling Feet are a gel cushions that can be slipped into your heels and can alleviate some of that pain it takes to look good. Those clever peeps have even gone one further by creating an entire range of gel cushions to treat several different areas that might that can be a tad uncomfortable.



I’ll definitely be pairing these handy little things with all my heels. After all, why should we gals compromise on style.



Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Dear Future Boyfriend, Part Four

Dear Future Boyfriend Part Four


I run the risk of this sounding whiny and desperate but oh FB where are you?! I have spent some time in the company of other men – not in a slutty way – and they’ve just reminded why I hold out hope for someone like you. I’ve always believed boys are good. And I’m not just talking about my gays, they’re in a whole other example of how great men can be. I’ve seen firsthand how boys can be caring and fun and not fuckwits that make you sad and eat your way to cellulite. But the road to these good men is usually clouded with losers and guys who don’t call. I’ve always been prepared to kiss a few frogs before finding you, after all, it will make being with you so much sweeter. But sometimes the actions of these other boys can ruin a girl.

Obviously FB you are not one of those boys. But just in case you were trying to pull any douchebag tricks, here’s a list of things you should never do:

*Firstly never play games. Yes we’ve all been there and we’ve all lived to tell that playing hard to get works but it’s annoying. Who came up with these rules that we have to wait a certain number of days before returning calls. It’s lame. If you like me, let me know. Obviously if you’re stalker-like don’t let me know.

*If we meet in a club and all you really want to do is kiss me or take me home, let me know upfront. Don’t ask for my number as a way to entice me. Sometimes alcohol and a good dance beat makes me weak and then I do stupid things like kiss strangers because I think they like me when they’ve taken my number. Cut to me constantly checking my cellphone reception and hanging up on other people so I don’t put your call on hold.

*If we went out and then it’s not working or you’re not feeling or you’ve found out something weird about me (like how much of a control freak I am or the fact that I have The Little Mermaid on DVD) and you want out; just tell me. Please don’t just stop calling me, tell me. There’s nothing worse than having to resort to Facebook Stalking or a Missing Person ad. Because if I really like you and think you’ve been kidnapped I will find a way to find you. And I don’t think it’ll be a great story for the kids –which we’ll be having by the way, two boys and a girl ;)

*Let me know upfront if you’re one of those nice guys who do random nice things for people. I know this sounds weird but if I’m not sure if you’re naturally nice and you do something sweet and blush-making I’ll assume you like me. It’s the girlie part of me. And because of that random time you bought me a latte or gave me a hug when I was down, I’ll probably start liking you. And then I’ll start imaging what I’d wear if we went on a date. Then I’ll start wondering if what our wedding colours would be and then if we’re sending the children to a Waldorf school or private and what to do when your mom comes to visit and it’ll all be a big mess. So if you’re genuinely a nice guy who drops off random bars of chocolate in a girl’s drawer include a note stating this will not lead to dating, marriage and adopting cute Asian babies.

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Things That Need to Be Invented Like Now

Part 1

Me after a night out - just not as composed.

*Some sort of device that prevents me from going to sultry and alluring with straight hair and dark smokey eyes to frizzy hair hastily tied up and raccoon eyes. Before I go out dancing I spend hours with a GHD and lots of time and patience trying to use a liquid liner successfully. And in the end all I end up with is pictures on Facebook of me trying to pull off heroin chic and failing miserably. If the people who owned clubs have some sort of misty thing that kept hair from doubling in size and that could also prevent my face from becoming all shiny, my life would be complete.

*Bad Kisser Detector. Meeting eligible boys these days is hard work. You never know who may be a douche, who may have a girlfriend or even worse who listen to Nickelback that sometimes you need to need to test out the waters before committing to anything serious. I’ve always thought that Cher was a bit frivolous with her “It’s in his kiss” thing but now it turns out that she’s right. I’ve found that no matter how good-looking a guy can be, or how much he can make you laugh if he’s a bad kisser things do not go much further. Therefore if I’m going to spend time holding in my stomach and listening to his ramblings I would like to know that it’s going to pay off. I do not have time to waste on washing machines and darting tongues. Also ladies if you happen to stumble upon a bad kisser, please do not send him back out into the wild. You have to let him know, in the kindest way you can. Shouting “why are you attacking my mouth” is not one of my proudest moments.

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!
Image from here.

An Open Letter To...

…the creators of chick-flicks. You have ruined my life. Don’t get me wrong I enjoy your movies immensely, I watch them all the time and thus have a horrible romantic life.

I waste so much time looking for guys with sparkly skin or secret royal lineages in the hope that I can be the one who makes a difference in their lives, you know be “the only thing that’s real” or at least get them to go outside and strip. Shiny things make me happy.

I am probably ignoring dozens of perfectly eligible men because I’m on the lookout for boys with posh British accents who are willing to partake in sad attempts of fighting for my honour. Never mind that these same guys will cheat on me with skinny-ass tanned women or that they prefer a little something-something from ladies of the night, Hugh Grant I’m talking to you, I’m hooked.

I dance my ass off at clubs because I have come to believe many hot guys are not only sensitive souls but can also bust a move and one day we’ll end up doing choreography in a street together.

I want to wait in the rain because I’ve learnt not only will I look radiant and my mascara won’t run but that guy, the one that got away will find me and we’ll have a moment and kiss and totally ignore the fact my shirt is see-through.

You have convinced me that a kiss is a gazillion times better when it’s accompanied by a killer soundtrack. Also running into each other’s arms makes for great dramatic moments. On a side-note, have you ever tried that? It’s hard to master and if you’re out of sync, teeth bash, foreheads bump and someone lands up on the floor.

I also fear that when I do find love without an elaborate gesture I may not believe it. If there is no guy with cue cards telling me I’m perfect or a John Cusack look-a-like holding up a classic 80s song on a boombox, how will I know if it’s real. If a guy is not willing to slay an evil sea witch or go to prison ‘cause some little bitch of a sister falsely accused him of something then I’m gonna eject his ass.

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Image from here.

My New Philosphy

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Image from here.