Aesop stinks. We agree to disagree on this one Coco bird

Aesop Rocks

Sorry for the false advertising, I'm talking skincare, not hop hop FOOOL, although I do love hip hop.. I'm talking Aesop as in the Australian owned and made skincare label that makes the beautiful all nautral products for your skin, hair and soul. I'm not sure whether its on purpose or just a damn shame, but I feel like Aesop doesn't get enough press or props as everything they make is totally magical and once you use you'll never go back to the $10 drying Nivea crap you normally use. My all time favourite is Parsley Seed Face Mask which will make you look like a poor man's mime but will leave your skin baby arse smooth and the tube will last nearly a year even if used twice a week.

I went to my local Aesop to buy a new cleanser as I'm sick of drying cheap mass produce crap and was gently conned into buy the latest, and most expensive Parlsey Seed Cleansing Facial Oil. Slightly unsure ast oil only belongs in a deep fryer or on my scalp, and at $55 a pop not the cheapest risk to take but I am totally converted. You wet your hands slightly, use a few drops of the oil and it will turn into a slightly creamy lotion that cleans better then anything else I've used, and leaves your skin smooth and soft. Mmm.

At either a Aesop store, or in a department store, you'll receive down to earth, friendly service and loads of samples that will have you coming back.

http://aesop.net.au

Its Gettin Hot In Here..

ok so yes i caught on fire, if you haven't already heard I'm not re-telling. You should already know by now. The latest more exciting news is that yesterday I graduated from Burns Unit and despite the raw black patches of skin hanging off the left side of my body, I am in fact healed and never have to go back to that godforsaken hell hole again. So, on this special and momentous occasion I thought it appropriate to thank a few people who have been along for the ride.

Firstly I'd like to thank Parker for having me as a guest in her home and allowing me to drink champagne in the shower in front of her friends, to the lesbian ambo that laughed at all my jokes and let me keep my underwear off... hmmm, to the kind folks at St Vincents for the high fives and drugs, my beautiful Sydney big sister Lana for cheuffering me several times a week to Concord and for driving up the super creepy driveway of the juvenile detention centre despite the KEEP OUT signs and children of the corn vibe. To Baby Jaime for the fashion laughter and tears, to Nurse Frank for picking off the dead skin in the places I couldn't reach, Nurse Megan for her inappropriate redneck racist comments and admiration of my fashion forward headwear, to the sort of cute Doctor with the tiny eyes for the sympathy flirty, and lastly to the 80's for making such amazing and flammable fashion, which without I would never have such a fabulous story to tell.

So lets all sit back, light a precariously positioned candle, have a champagne and pop a Pandine Forte, and enjoy the final scene from one of my all time favourite films Daft Punks Electroma. Oops did I just give away the ending?

Bradattude

My favourite man from Team Zoe, Brad (Joey needs to seriously die. Like literally die not "I die" die) has posed for super creepy photographer Terry Richardson and looks totally hot. Who'd have thought that underneath his fabulous blazer and bow ties would be such rock hard abs. Owe!!!

Song Of The Week

From the old winking man, to the Carerra's to the street jazz ballet. Hot Hot Hot

Er..

Fiddy ain't looking so great..

Seasonal Depression & The Pros of Canned Goods

Every year without fail, as soon as the weather cools down so do I. Towards life. And socialising. And hygiene and general self respect. I also start hating my life. My hair. My friends. My shoes. I'm a miserable wreck that doesn't want to leave the house until thongs are once again wearable. This year my annual hibernation has started early, Autumn and I feel my once booze fuelled wanna be glamour sun kissed fabulous Sydney life has turned into one long snacking tv session in bed. No wait, its doesn't feel like it, it has. Last weekend I spent 28 hours straight horizontal in bed, minus the 20 mins I ate a mexican themed meal at my local junkie favoured food emporium, 2.5 mins trying to get clearer reception whilst watching Customs and 1 trip downstairs to go the toilet. ONE TRIP. In 28 hours I urinated once and the only liquid I ate was the juice of melted sour cream and my own saliva. WTF?? Any way I digress. There is nothing witty or clever or cool I can offer you or anyone for that matter. Until winter is over, I've shed my skin and the snow has melted I am a boring waste of space. My top priority's right now are planning different meals to involve Stagg Chilli, downloading Rod Stewart albums, dissecting the lives and relationships of revolting MTV American reality stars like they are my real friends (ok so they sort of are) finding things to blow my nose on in my room, having sexy dreams about Ari Gold, planning Rachel Zoe's TayTay inspired outfits for events that don't exist and having anxiety attacks about what I'm going to watch once I've finished Modern Family. So lacklustre is my soul that I neglected my strict fake tanning regime. No one see's your tan in a dark room, but only the silver glint of an empty Dorito's bag and the warm glow of Window's Media Player. So friends, if you do decide to stick the next few months out with me I can't promise it will be interesting or inspiring. But I do promise whats hot in American Sitcom, 10 easy snacks using mayonnaise and frozen garlic bread and how to clean your sheets without washing them (pssst here's a hint, turn them inside out)

What will get me out of the slovenly mind-numbing funk I'm in? I'm hoping Series 7 of the Hills

You know you love me xoxo