Blondes vs. Brunettes

In the right corner, weighing in with a C cup and a bubbly attitude, is the ever popular Blonde!

And in the left corner, weighing with a cardigan and a fair amount of smarts, is the not-as-popular Brunette.

But why the divide? Why has it has gotten to the point where brunettes regard blondes as ditsy flirts incapable of intellectual conversation and in return, blondes think brunettes are just jealous. Do we really think like this or are we just being catty?

I suppose if we really get down to the nitty-gritty, what are we fighting for? Attention. The admiration of the opposite sex. We want to be the girl on the front cover of FHM. We want to be desired. We all want exactly the same thing. We want guys to want us and we want girls to want to be like us. And the only way for girls to want to be like us, is if guys want to get with us-do you see how it goes around in circles. And when asked, 8 out of 10 men prefer blondes. 8 out of 10 men also prefer big breasts. So if you're anything like me and you have neither blonde hair nor breasts - really an A cup doesn't count! Where does that leave you? Well it leaves you having to deal with your boyfriend getting whiplash when a blonde walks past (even whilst driving which poses a danger to your safety-GOD) or ignoring you when there's a blonde at your table. And yes this makes me jealous. How would you feel, honestly? And if you're a guy and you can't get this, think about how you feel about a bunch of girls fussing around the 'guy with the beamer' or 'the band member'. It's one in the same my friend.

Now it's not just me who finds herself in these situations. 8 out of 10 brunettes have the same problems. So what's the deal? Since when has having brown hair made you less desirable and why, given the absurdity of the topic, do we really give a f***? When asked this question, the most common answers I've received by people with penises are:

1. Blondes are hot

2. Blonde hair makes any chick hot

3. Blondes are way more fun

4. Blondes are easy

5. Blondes are like arm candy

6. Brown hair is boring

7. Brunettes think they are too smart

8. Brunettes are too serious

9. Brunettes aren't easy enough

10. Brunettes are feminists (apparently having brown hair instantly makes you too opinionated and therefore a feminist. It seems some of our more famous feminists are, in fact, brunette: Susan B Anthony, Mary Wollstonecraft and the writer of The Feminine Mystique-Betty Friedan. So I guess that statement isn't too far fetched, but still.)

But if brunettes are so smart why don't we see this happening, and rise above it? Blondes are forgiven, besides they have 8 out of 10 guys already vying for their attention (bitch pleas).

I think the thing we have to ask ourselves, is this: Why settle with one of the 8 out of 10 guys who prefer blondes when you could be with one of the 2, who'll like you for you, brown hair and all. Why put yourself in situations where you walk away (a) not being able to say anything for fear of the "You're just jealous!" rebuke, and (b) made to feel insignificant over something as superficial as hair colour. Why date the guy who wants Cameron Diaz when you're Anne Hathaway.

I guess at the end of the day if you spend your time trying to be something you're not. Or if you're pressured to be someone you're not. The problem isn't you. It's someone else. Because you're prefect just the way you are, so fuck'em...

xoxox

Toothpaste for Dinner. Nataliedee. Superpoop

I'm afraid that now you will never be the same again (in a very good way) http://www.nataliedee.com/

Puppy luff

I have a little dachshund

His name is Ju Ju Bean

He's short

And black

Without an inch of fat

And he's got the longest nose I've ever seen.

I love Dachshunds and so did Picasso and Andy Warhol (and a whole bunch of other rather cool peeps, so should you not be a fan of the "Black and Tan", then your uncool by implication). Back to the blog: Picasso and Mr Warhol were so down with the brown, they created artworks in their honor. Picasso of his Daxie Lump and Andy of his sausage Maurice (look up). The Dachshund phenomena can be explained in one very simple sentence: "Once you go Daxi - it's shoshaloza in your taxi"... Not only are they your bessie mates 4 life but, providing they're not weirdly overweight (no one likes a fat Richard) they have the swankiest shape to them. What's more, is they look doubly good printed on textiles...

Word.

Woof.

Eat. Pray... Sleep

Let me start off (quickly) by stating: I am not knocking the personal accomplishments of the famed lady writer. Not at all! I am not one to judge someone's life-especially on their path to seek out balance and spiritual enlightenment. Quite the contrary, high five for pursuing such a noble cause. I do, however, tend to judge a book (admittedly at times even by it's cover). I heard about this book from a girlfriend (who the hell else), um well about the movie and being slightly book obsessed I knew it was based on a book. Now having just finished a book written by Aravind Adiga 'Between the Assassinations' (super deep, tragic, drama deluxe, deliciously well written, at times poetic, that's what one gets from reading a Man Booker Prize winner), I was itching to get something light hearted and inspirational into my system. I found Eat. Pray. Love at a second hand bookstore in good nick. It was in such good condition it actually looked like someone never got past the few first pages... Which, if you read a lot, you'd recognize this as a sign that the book was non troppo buona (not good)!

I am on page 100 and it's like wadding through narcissistic molasses. Thank god there's a bloody movie. And perfume and scented candles and cosmetics...

I think it's imperative to add here that although something is an international best seller-it does not and never will translate into a good read. It's written for the masses and it's proven that the masses can't read, look at the merde they print in tabloids, Jesus, Mary and buckskin clad Joseph.

But what would I know, I'm just a writer of a silly little blog.

Sadly, this sums it up...

Big up for cashing in on the bigtime Liz, nice-nice. Oh and P.S. the movie was equally as weak, like trying to eat watery cabbage soup. Sick. This one's straight to Kindle (ooh what a diss).

Framed.

Bonjour me petit pal! So I'm sitting here eating a salad (like you care), watching American Idols (oh god) and feeling mildly bored, when 'light bulb' I had an idea. Now because I spend way too much time and way too much money buying decor mags, I, luckily, am imbued with way too many ideas, one of which, is a chalkboard frame (or la charpente). I'm going to lay it on you straight here: Chalkboards aren't just neat, they're 100% awesome and you can make one out of anything. Use your pip (or la tête). Just take a trip down to your local paint/hardware store and you can pick up either a spray on chalkboard or you could use a simple, matt black paint and voila the sky (or the walls) are the limit.

Anyway, so, back to the chalkboard frame, this sweet little puppy will cost less than 100 bucks-depending on the frame of course. Altogether now... "Hmm." Think about this: If you commander one of your Gran's old fogie frames, ditch the print/photo and replace it with one of your chalky Chagall's, not only do you effectively save money, but also the environment-not too mention all the good you'll be doing your fellow comrades in ridding the world of yet another one of Ouma se foties. Now if you have an Ouma you'd know that these kitsch little pictures put Bananas in Pajamas, the doily in the uh Doilies and the knit in Tea Cosies, ag siss. Moving along. This is called being economically smart and eco-savvy and these are things we like, wee.

Now let's get to the good stuff. You're going to need:

1 X frame,of any kind, without glass, ideally.

1 X black spray paint

1 X your favourite quote (um yeah)

1. Lets keep it neat and tidy, lay down news papers to prevent spray marks

2. Separate the frame from the backing

3. Make sure the surfaces are clean and bone dry

4. Spray, let dry and spray again. You want the backing to be as black as a Nigerian with a sunburn.

5. Once fully dry, put the frame back together. Grab some chalk and get inspired.

OK, one last time, because the first time was kinda of fun. Altogether now... "Ooh La La!" Or for the Tannies is in the cheap seats... "Maar dis baie mooi!"

Girly Tip #3

Never, ever, ever, ever, ever dye your hair twenty minutes before you have to go on a Valentine's Day date. Why (I mean really!) because:

1. Due to the already rushed situation, you tend to forget the exact time you put the dye in, lending itself to 'over-colouring' (i.e. your iced chocolate brown comes out, uh, black).

2. You don't have time to blow dry your hair, thinking it will dry naturally and maybe a little wavy... This doesn't happen. The hair dye frizzes your hair, seriously, they should put that on the box! Not to self: It's imperative to straighten your hair after the initial colouring bonanza, stress hair 'normalizes' in 2 or 3 washes time.

3. Now because your hair is wet, you're unable to see the extent of the damage, and when coupled with your white face it's no surprise you share an uncanny resemblance to a spook.

4. When you get home, wow this is just far too tragic, and you FINALLY look at yourself in the mirror you realise, with sheer mortification, that you've been sitting across from your bf, looking like a ghost who's just been electrocuted, whilst wearing a ridiculously yellow dress, and all the while thinking that you looked great. As a result you'd spent the evening acting all cute-like (you know how you get when you think you look great).

Only you're not, in fact some would even say 'hideous' only your beau didn't have the heart to tell you. It was, after all, Valentine's Day.

O H M Y G O D !

It came as no surprise when he started licking his elbow

This is James.

He is 8.

He learnt how to do this from watching Lilo & Stitch.

I think it's very cool.

In fact, that I'd even say I am mildly jealous.

I personally can't do any cool tricks. But I do have a friend who is a gymnastics-guys love this (in a not very strange way, I am not surprised at all, I think there is double emphasis on the fact that I am really, really not shocked by guys loving the idea of a girl doing the splits). So I also have a friend who can stick one end of a condom up his nose and pull it out through his mouth (now this, on the other hand, shocks me quite a bit). I like to think that because I know people who can do tricks, I somehow acquire semi-trick status. Like people who know celebrities, they are, in some bizarre way, semi-celebs themselves... See?

Anyway

This trick comes in handy when you've got both hands on the steering wheel (and no I didn't just admit to anything).