Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Loren: Cut and run.

Its a fact, that everyone has that something special that makes them feel a little more happy/secure/braver when they need it. Some have a particular vintage clutch, others a treasured keychain, and more often than not, its really pretty lingerie that no one can see, but the wearer can feel it rustling against their skin as they go about conquering their foes. 

We may have graduated past our security blankets, but we definitely have not outgrown our need for security. 

I admit that having new lingerie makes me have my "cat ate the canary" smile, but something else makes me beam everytime I catch a glimpse of them.


Patterned socks hosiery. The wackier, the better. Maybe its some kind of backlash from a childhood of plain white socks, but whatever it is, wearing colorful socks actually creates bounce in my day. So imagine my immense pleasure when I realized that Eley Kishimoto, one of my favourite pattern makers, now have an online store.

Hide your credit card!

Okay, so they are still in the pound currency, but they are on sale. Suddenly, paying 19 pounds for a pair of socks seems so much more reasonable, considering that it used to be 38 pounds. Yes, I know my powers of reasoning are amazing and quite deluded.

What can I say, with my mind unravelling quietly and with frightening speed in these last few days, I just might need to stock up on socks and hosiery. Nothing would beat having those shoes, but hey, whatever that can help right now, I'd grab it with both hands and feet.

Although, in light of how I am about to crash into scary new territories, maybe this would be more appropriate.
Eley Kishimoto limited edition helmet

I dont have new shoes to run away in, so maybe I should just get a helmet and brace myself for impact. If anything, my brains will be kept in my skull while the rest of me explodes.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Loren: So he said, she listened, and the tree fell.

In moments caught within the web of memories, this moment was tucked beneath the rest, hazy with dust and cracked with the force of her emotions, laying quietly until she picked it up to hold it the the eye of her heart.

"Don't ever say to me, 'If you really loved me, you would do this, or that'." His voice trailed in the sticky air, thickening the afternoon light with its meaning. 

He turned his back to her, his voice cracking slightly with heaviness. "Don't use love as a weapon to hold over my head."

The girl looked at his back, noticing how he had unknowingly stepped into a shaft of light that escaped from the metal blinds to stab his silhouette. The tips of her fingers itched to push him out of the way, even as her logic howled at the harmlessness of it. 

Symbolic. The word brushed against her mind in a feathery caress. It meant more than she could explain, something she could not hold in her arms, or form with the many words she harvested carefully. 

Just like this love he was talking about. It could not be used to ask him to do anything, to hold him to her, to be used as any form of guarantee of a future together. What was this love for then, she wondered, a suspended feeling between them, but stretched taut with shallowness, accompanied with the ticking of the clock that counted down the minutes they had together.

What was this love good for then?

The question burned sour on her tongue. Reflexively, her lips parted to let the words escape. She was never one to quell her questions when there were answers to be had. However, her teeth remained clenched shut. A dark warning to not let the words into the open. Her heart sped up for a second, straining against the need to have the answer from him, before pulling tight in her chest. 

She knew then. She looked at him, this incomplete person, with his imperfections that she saw all too clearly, and knew. His answer was already made, their future was non-existent. The fight for survival, for hope, was over.

"This is the moment," She swallowed the words down into the bowels of her gut.

"This is the moment, when a heart starts to break."

But there was love, even if it was fraying before her eyes. 

So she smiled, even though he could not see it, just so he could hear it in her next words. Carefully chosen, artfully executed.

"I promise I'll never ask you to do anything out of love." Her lips stretched wider, painful in its attempt to mask an even greater sorrow.

"What shall we have for lunch?"

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

tilly: Yay or Nay?

I gasped.

But I am unsure of my gasp.

I will have to re-think.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

tilly: Beautiful ankles

Tilly is weird.

Tilly like skinny ankles and skinny wrists.

Tilly decides to show you nice skinny ankles via pictures.  All samples taken from The Sartorialist.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Loren: (Another) Unrelated Fashion Post

Do you know that feeling, when you're standing on the edge of something new, something unknown? That sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, while your heart rises into your throat? You can't quite discern whether it is excitement that makes you taste the bile on your tongue, or fear that makes you feel like breathing into a paper bag.

I have that feeling.

And when I have that feeling, I feel the need to shut down the world, to steady my choppy breathing, in order to listen to what my heart says. (I always know what my mind has to say, opinionated thing that it is.) I don't have the heart of a warrior, or even an adventurer. Its a heart that quivers in the face of adventure, deflates when a dear friend hurts (even while the face remains impasse.), its a heart that seeks cover of the darkness rather than to be out in the open where optimism and hope thrive.

Its a weak heart, but its mine all the same. 

Mine to protect, mine to heal, mine to risk, mine to hurt.

I think that's the only thing that is keeping the Loren ship afloat at the moment. The knowledge of choice. The power of choice that only I can make, and no one else. I can choose to turn away, and head back to shallow waters even though I run the risk of beaching(?) myself. 

Or. I can choose to stay the course, and see where it leads me.

Hush world, its time to hear what the heart has to say.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Loren: Here's looking at you, kiddies

I don't actually swear. A lot. I usually use a variation of the word "frick", like "Frick on a stick!" or "Shit frick.", and its not because I am a "prim and proper" girl. Its because I went through a phase of extreme foul mouth (after living with singaporeans and HK folk) and it distressed Sister Kyssa so much that I had to stop. Sounds silly, isn't it? Usually I can walk all over her, but to see her wince over the vulgarities that slipped from my lips bothered me more than the harshest reprimand.

I must be getting soft in my old age.

I also find it easier for others, if I don't use actual swear words in my daily vocabulary. Easier in the sense for my friends and acquaintances to gauge how upset I really am. Since I rarely use the word "fuck", when I actually do use it, it shows my extreme displeasure with the situation. 

Which is why it always startles me a little when someone uses it casually for minor issues. Like,
"Fuck! We're out of milk!" or "Fucking hell, who would do that in real life?" I immediately have to glance at the speaker's face to see from their expression, whether they are really upset. And to be really honest, I don't like it when girls swear in front of boys. Well, I don't like them swearing, period, but especially in front of boys. Yeah, this is my fuddy duddy side. Keep those legs crossed, a tissue at hand and your foulness tucked behind your teeth, ladies. Chivalry is a barely kicking horse, so tis probably best not to give men the added excuse to be rude to a girl since she swears like a whore at sea.

Still, in the appropriate setting, I love creative swearing. Like the character Ari's swearing rants in the show Entourage, is priceless. 

Ari: You know what other class I took at Harvard? Business ethics. I don’t steal other people’s motherfucking clients. But in YOUR case, I am going to make an exception! I’m going to take everyone! Your B-level sitcom stars, your reality-TV writers. When I’m done with you you’ll be repping sideshow freaks. You need jojo the dog faced bitch boy, call Josh Winefuck. The lightweight penstealing fuck face. (Takes a sip of Josh’ drink:) That’s awful.

That's exactly how I'd like to be able to swear when pushed to the point where I can barely control my temper, and the words are bitten off hard with tightly clenched teeth. Ah, wistful sigh. However, I don't think I will get to that point anytime soon because for me, to lose control and vulgarly express anger is to reveal weakness of character. But that's another story altogether.

For all the rest of you who get that happy jolt in your loins from weaving swear words into your daily vocabulary, here's a little inspiration....something you definitely won't see on national television.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Loren: Because I love

On the day that Tilly gets married (despite all her vehement protesting and doomsday-woe-the-frick-is-me predictions, she is still an old fashioned 'wanna be married' girl at heart), probably in something incredibly beautiful and elegant like this gown:

Marchesa Spring 2009 RTW
A dress that loops and swirls gracefully, careful folds draping to conceal as well as reveal the girl centred as a woman in every way, conveying her gentle hopes and dreams for the future materialising into a work of art to be seen and admired by onlookers. 

I, hopefully, will be at her side, half scowling, half teary eyed, in this gown:

Marchesa Fall 2009 RTW
Hard. Prickly. Pointed. Shelled. 
A "dont-come-too-close-or-I'll-cause-harm"  dress.
And with a fingertip black veil. 
When people disapprove of a girl wearing black to a wedding, gobble on about how inauspicious it is, I'd shush their complaints with a hard glare. 

"As much as this is a happy occasion, it is also happens to be a sad day, for me, as I am losing my beloved friend...to marriage, and this loss must be properly tended to, with the right attire. So suck it, grandpa."

Hey Tilly, do I still get an invite?

Friday, March 6, 2009

Loren: Twisting my head to look back

Here is what happened on Saturday...

Miss Flawless (my housemate now.) and I decided to check out the Reggae Festival that was being held somewhere around Brunswick. Yeah, I know. The thought of me brushing shoulders with rasta farrians with colorful beanies and smelly dreadlocks is....well, hard to imagine. But hey, I figured I might as well get an eyeful before setting my prejudices and snobbery into stone. 

The two of us were going to spend the day together, alone, as Brother Dick and SIL were preparing Lackey's house and car for his return on sunday. Of course I mentally/emotionally braced myself. But here I am, despite Tilly's protests, trying to be a 'better person' by learning to get along with people who twang merrily on my nerves. 

Typically me, I didn't know what to wear to a reggae festival. Flowery, frilly stuff were out of the picture, but I'd be damned if I sacrifice my heels. In the end I wore my Milk fed denim overalls (though they are far from ordinary overalls), over my yellow/white striped semi frilled Zara blouse, grey striped socks, blue Chloe oxford heels and (hahahaha) a blue knitted baker boy cap twisted askew on my head. I don't think I have ever looked quite so punk? rock? street? Yes. Street. (I can hear Tilly's peals of laughter here.)

Anyway, at 5 p.m (she woke up late) we took the only tram outside our place to Brunswick street, foolishly banking on our directional senses to lead us to the festival, neatly forgetting that I don't really have any directional sense.  6 pm. at Brunswick street, we window shopped our way down the street, pressing our noses against the glasses to ooh and aah at the many things in the closed stores (Melb stores close early.) and still did not see/hear any Reggae Festival activities. I don't know what she expected to see, but I kind of expected my nose to follow the familiar smell of *cough* weed *cough* to the festivals. Sorry, stereotyping here.

Famished, we tried to enter Bimbo's, which is one of my favourite places to nosh at, popular for their cheap, individually sized pizzas and flavour infused vodkas. However, it was too noisy for Miss Flawless, so at my reassurance that we could always return to Bimbos another day, we decided to eat somewhere else. 

Oh, a funny thing happened when we were standing outside Bimbos. This French sounding man (creepy looking, sorry to disappoint) came up behind us, apparently he had been chasing us down the street, and asked us if we were Japanese. Despite finding out that we were both Singaporeans, he proceeded to wave a dodgy looking business card in front of us, and chatter on about how he is one of the photographers for the japanese street style magazie Fruits (which does exists, fyi) and how he wanted to take our photographs. Or help us make a modelling portfolio. I slid a look at Miss Flawless, who seemed to be leaning on my answer, and politely refused him. 

Don't groan at me here.

Hello. Being a person who hates having her photo taken by friends, you think I would have a complete stranger take my photo? Especially one that seems suspicious? 

When Miss Flawless and I walked away, discussing it, we both agreed that saying no was the right thing to do although, she did ask me if she had said yes, would I have agreed as well? I laughed, and said no, although I would accompany her to make sure he didn't do anything weird. I think she wanted to have her photo taken....which is only normal. Except that it, um, kind of felt that the man was after my photo, and not hers. She even said so. Okay, I hate to say that, but ok. Vain moment over.

We ate at another one of my favourite places, Joe's Garage, great for their shoe string fries. After our lunch/dinner, we folowed the waitress's direction, and ended up travelling out of Brunswick and towards the direction of home. It was getting dark then, and with the sense of self-reservation, we got off the tram at some random stop. Unfortunately, it turned out that the stop in the middle of no where, smelled like pee and fart. 

Its in situations like these, where you get a sense of what the person is like as a companion. Naturally, I found our continuous 'getting lost' streak hilarious, and laughed at the hopelessness at it all, and thankfully (and somewhat surprisingly) Miss Flawless was able to laugh at it as well. (I say that its surprising, because she has shown an incredibly capacity to complain about everything in life. Even the stuff that doesn't involve her.) We started playing the game of "It Could be Worse", which didn't last very long, because we were already lost, in a dark place, that stank, and we had a limited amount of money, and I didn't bring my phone.

We took the tram back towards the city, planning to take another tram from there, and after a phonecall from Patrick (one of Miss Flawless's friends whom I have gotten to know on a few occasions), we found out that if we had continued on the tram we had been on, we would have been able to get to the reggae festival. We looked at each other, horrified, then laughed. By then it was two hours before the festival closed (11 p.m), so we decided to just catch a movie in the city.

After a few minor incidents, we went to Crown Casino to catch Zach and Miri make a Porno, which was all right. When the movie finished (12 a.m.), we found out that coincidentally, Patrick and co. were in Crown Casino as well. I was remarking to her about how it seemed like anything we planned to do/get/eat/see that day was foiled, and wondering what the cosmos was steering us towards. I predicted something evil awaiting us, and she predicted something evil would have befallen us if our original plans had stuck.

Not hard to see who is the optimist and who is the pessimist here.

We met the guys in the club Fusion, and Miss Flawless proceeded to drink pretty fast. Her alcohol tolerance is pretty high, judging from the number of alcohol bottles belonging to her at home. It was amusing to note how she was worried that I would get drunk, considering that the only time we went drinking together was on her birthday, and she got wasted off her ass and all I got was high. I know that my alcohol tolerance has gone down since I stopped drinking/eating regularly, but I am sober enough to know when to stop drinking shots.

We danced the night away till 5 a.m., and since I wasn't in the company of people whose opinion matters, I danced without care. Which was fun. Miss Flawless (semi-accusingly) told me that I can dance pretty well, which made me laugh because I tend to embarrass the people I dance with. Some stuff happened. Like a really nice guy bought drinks for me and the others, a couple of guys tried to hit on me to which I just said, "Thank you." before scooting off, my butt got smacked and I figured out that I hate drinking cheapass alcohol.

Then we went to get supper at Chinatown. We assumed that we get the NightRider bus, but unfortunately as the day continued to thwart our plans, we found out that we missed the last bus at 5.30 a.m. At six a.m., there were no trams, or trains. The guys offered to wait with us, but we shooed them off because they had a girl with them (a neighbour). We sat around waiting for the next tram, which was an hour and a half away when Miss Flawless remembered that the trains ran earlier than trams. We trekked over to the train station....only to find out that we had to wait at least two hours for the trains to run. I burst out into hopeless giggles, and she opted for taking a taxi, just hoping that the taxi driver wouldn't get lost on the way.

So, that's how, at 7 a.m, I reached home after a night out. Its been ages, since I have been out the whole night...but it was pretty fun. Memorable, even.

Okay, I know that this entry is long, draggy, pointless, and a lot of stuff is "You have to be there to get it", but give me a break. I haven't been writing for a while...need to stretch my brain before getting into the good stuff. 

Loren: Haiku Hiatus

Thursday comes and goes
Two girls troubled with life
No updates for now.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

tilly: Money on a whim

Money and whim do not mix.

For example, I am now on a whim to buy myself a plane ticket and fly to Helsinki.  In an alternate reality, that would be awesome.  It would be taking charge of this short life to do something that is worthwhile.
BUT, I got no cash.  Heck, I didn't even have enough cash for today's lunch, to put gas in the car and to buy toilet paper.  Needless to say, I haven't bought shoes in a while and am heading home more these days to have meals.  Then the mobile phone bill came in today.  $250-fing-dollars.  I haven't even bought any new clothes in the last month.  I head to Borders to read the magazines.  I avoid the malls.  The only luxury expense this month is my 2 CDs.  Oh sigh, there are people alot worse than me.  I should stop complaining.

Back to the point.  Whims and money pretty much go hand in hand.  Well, for me.  I hate to travel cheap.  And I don't like to "invest" money on cheap things.  Yes, I am terribly spoilt and indecent.  (I added indecent because I am.)

And Loren, pls post something so I know you are actually online in some way???

Also, I thought of you (Loren) when I saw this:

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

tilly: Chanel No5

I watched a documentary on luxury brands last night.  It was of Chanel.  I think it's quite funny how I always seem to catch Chanel/Karl documentaries.  I have never seen another fashion brand/house on that channel yet even though they do feature others.  I just always seem to fall on Chanel/Karl.

So, it told the short story of Grabrielle Chanel + 31 Rue Cambon + Karl + 5 ladies who truly are Chanel-istas.  They are 5 different women from different parts of the world who live by Coco's words and style.

Which makes me think, who's style do you live by?

I'd like to think I am a Vuitton-ista, but really, I have trouble even admitting my feelings, so I am still a major WIP.  I do seem to love all things LV.  Everything about it.  It makes my heart flutter.  But ask Loren and she tells me that she envisions the perfect me in Marni.  It seems I am a natural Marni-ista.

Right now though, I think I am a sleepyista.  Good night.

P/S for Loren:- Grooves in anyway is good.  Yes, even the grooves on your forehead when you talk to Ms Flawless.

tilly: Le Love

As the title says - this image is taken from Le Love.

I want a paparazzi pic of my kiss with my love like this.

Loren: I'm getting grooves, and its not the funky kind.

Dear God, Lord of Consciousness, Ultimate Being, etc,

I have been scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling through my Google Reader for days and guess how many I have yet to read? 


And I didnt even read through all of them properly. Just barely skimmed over the words and pictures, taking mental notes for future closer inspections, knowing well enough that those inspections may never come to pass.

I have grooves on my pointer finger from all the scrolling action. I feel despair. And very, very, out of the fashion loop.

Monday, March 2, 2009

tilly: Maybe out + *gasp*breathe*gasp*

I think I could be ready to start talking to people again.  Well, to the people that so far have not given up on my stupid hiberante periods.  Loren, I am now ready to take on all about Miss Flawless.  And your rants and whatnots that you have for me.  I truly miss you.

And I have have have seen one of the most amazing white shoes ever.  Wow.  This could be my Ann D (refer Loren).

@ JaknJill
I don't care what I have to wear it with.  I just want to wear it.  I like white things.  And this white "thing" is simply gorgeous beyond words.  Probably one of the most beautiful white "thing" ever.  Ever.  Ever.  Hmm, ok, maybe it does not render a third "ever" because knowing me and my little fickle heart, I would find another white "thing".

Also, I am addicted to Kings of Leon - Only By The Night.  Again, a late bloomer here.  People everywhere were going nuts about this album but I really didn't like Sex On Fire!  The rest of the album is sweet sounds and with my current hair now, this is my rock album.  Well, I pretend this is MY rock album.  My mind churns out images of me in chic rock clothes, with the raspy rock voice and amazing talent at the guitar playing to a sell-out crowd.

Yea, I can be cool like that.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Loren:24 turning 14, no, 16, 18, maybe 21....

Its 7.33 a.m.

I have just gotten home from a very...strange day. I don't know whether to call it a long day considering that it only started at 5 p.m., but it was a strange day.

I'm going to drag my sore thighs, aching feet and addled brain to sleep. Hopefully, I am tired enough to have a deep dreamless sleep. 

I'll fill you in on the hahatypicalLorenhehehe details tomorrow. I mean, later.

And because I feel bad to write this entry without using any big words, here's one to fulfil the quota.

HIPPOPOTO­MONSTRO­SESQUIPED­AL­IAN which means, pertaining to a..............very long word.


Until later.

See kitty.