Show us your coloured teeth

So – Bluetooth. What’s that all about then? Discovered it only recently at work. It means I can send files to people. But you know what? I could anyway – I had both internet and a network drive for that very thing. And on the train this morning reading a report on the lappie, I got a ‘do you want to acccept’ Bluetooth file – presumably from someone else on the train. An MP3 file. Now, as voyeuristic and nosy as I naturally am, I declined, thinking that it could be some kind of skanky virus, or sent in mistake. But on further thinking I wonder if it really was sent by mistake or might have been some weird train pickup (hey, can’t blame a girl for wondering!). Maybe I should have said yes! Maybe it would have been some lovely pop song for my listening pleasure. Now I’ll never know.
Someone told me today about a friend of theirs who was sent a file to his mobile when he was at the pool – it was a suggestive video that a man nearby had just made of himself. Noice. Different. Unnusual. Is it just me or am I thinking that this is like a slightly more pornographic, slightly more hi-tech version of the calling card? But now it says ‘ah yes, good evening, Mr Higginsbottom would like to request an audience with your good self Lady Pealsworth, preferably unchaperoned, and in the mean time here is an animated etching for your viewing pleasure.’

Very Wuthering Heights

Did I mention the other day about bumping into an old friend beachside? We had failed to make any type of actual useful arrangements but then as I was walking on the cliffs by the water thought ‘hmm, look at that person sitting on the rocks with lavender sticking out of their bag. Cute ponytail. I wonder if it’s a girl or a boy? You just don’t see enough boys with lavender out of their bags, oh and look, he’s writing. Oh hang on! That’s Melbourne spice.’ Nice one. Coffee and chat followed.

Glam dahling glam

Have a glam rock birthday party to go to tomorrow night. Think mid 1970’s David Bowie. I wasn’t sure what to wear (yes it’s dress up) because being in the mountains I kinda figured that any outfit would have a foundation of thermal leggings, walking socks, sensible shoes and skivvies, and be finished with a fleece in one of the National Parks colours, rendering anything else kind of hidden. In fact it’s a (great but) funny theme for the mountains, which in all honestly I have to say is one of the least glamorous places I have ever lived. Think woolly. Think worn in sensible shoes rather than anything pointy or shiny. Think comfortable and warm. Lovely, homely, understated cool, funky by all means, but not exactly what I would call glamorous.

Fortunately my wardrobe of many surprises spat out a lurex dress for me to wear. Sleeveless to allow a black skivvy to poke out, long enough to hide many many layers of pants underneath, and a rather fetching shade of sky blue to match the questionable pearlescent eyeshadow I plan to wear.

Hair? A girl at work suggested wigs. But really, that sounds like far too much effort. I was thinking maybe of teasing/curling the hair I already have and making it a big giant triangle, but with the part bit smoothed down flat. Like Magenta from Rocky Horror. Non? Or maybe the other way – smooth and flat and swingy after hours of blowdrying. Realistically not likely though as I am too lazy and it breaks most of my rules of grooming (rule number one, if entire outfit can’t be assembled in half an hour or less forget it. Rule number two, think very carefully about any look that requires electricity and an appliance to produce it. ‘Rule number three – there are no rules in fashion club’..?). Half tempted – in an abstract kind of way - to get a rock mullet hair cut, which might be fun post party too. If I had well behaved hair I might be more inclined. I do fancy a spiky silky tall-up-top and long-down-back mullet. I don’t fancy a booffy wavy wiry mullet that looks like it might belong to a 1980’s footy mum called Shirley who has been windswept for 4 hours serving fritz (that’s devon for you east-siders, and um, processed meat a little like dog food for you non aussies) and sauce sambos at the club kiosk – after all she might need it back.