Mr Near Perfect

    Many of us are on the hunt for Mr. Perfect these days, and it is a common myth that he actually exists. Where do we find such a man? You won’t really see him drinking it up in a trashy bar; you wouldn’t find him unconscious on the street. So where do we look? Well in response to this I say it comes down to what YOU want out of a man. Perhaps you are this overly social drinker and you were having your beer in the middle of the park whilst all the business workers are enjoying their low fat deli lunches; a gorgeous man resembling something of an Adonis to the majority in the park sits promptly down next to you.
You gaze up for a second, disregarding his hotness, then commence with your improper public drinking. Whilst on the other side of the park 'Miss. I’ve been single two years and I have 11 cats' is checking him out through the clear plastic of her sushi container. Wishing desperately that she was the one next to him not that trashy drunk girl. Then along comes 'Mr. I work at the tattoo parlour and smell like whiskey.' He walks past the girl next to the Adonis and instantly both the tattooist and the drunk are staring inseparably into one another’s eyes. Completely amazing guy next to her - completely trashy guy in front of her. It comes down to her type. For everyone at the park eating their low fat food and all suited to the point of strangulation, he is completely imperfect for their lifestyles. However that girl is the only one in the entire park that wants him more than anyone. Guess she doesn’t have to worry about competition.

So what I’m trying to get at here is, why is Mr. Perfect always closest to Mr/Miss imperfect? And how do we get him? Well, with Mr. Perfect clear in our conscience what’s to say we need to go for him? They always say there are plenty of fish in the sea, but why, of everyone are WE always those small fish in the tiniest of all rockpools? What if we all came ashore once in every while to really get a breath of fresh air? Then will our perceptions change on what we really want? We don’t all really want to drown in this rockpool of solitude. At least let us drown somewhere in the ocean, where there are actually bigger, better fish surrounding us.

This brings me to my final ponder. Why are we always the one chasing after Mr. Perfect? If Mr. Perfect is so perfect shouldn't he be chasing after us? Guess we should settle for Mr. Near Perfect- only once we lower our seemingly high standards of men. But not to the point where we get 'Mr. I work at a tattoo parlour and smell like whiskey'. Unless, ofcourse he's your Mr. Perfect. :)

Wedgewood

            Whilst up in woodville, scouring the antique stores of the lone town. I came across a collection of antiques I'd never seen before, Wedgewood. I was instantly enthralled by the collection. I love the color blue and white together, to me it's so elegant French/old English. I really wanted to buy them but to purchase even a plate would set me back $80. So now I can only dream of the day when I can start my collection of my new found antiquity love for the Wedgewood design. Here are a few images I discovered on the net, The necklaces I particularly like. (Bring vintage jewely back people! They work well with modern blazers or knited jumpers) Enjoy!
  

Woodville, small town- huge history.

     Recently my Grandmother Daphne passed away, this called for me and my mother to visit her hometown, Woodville. It was a 2 hour drive from Wellington, no pitt stops for ice cream like I remember when I was young. We arrived early in the afternoon on Sunday. Pulling up to an isolated motel on a street named something seemingly similar to a street off the movie and popular game "Silent Hill". (like my alliteration of the letter S?).

The motel owner was well into his 90's, shaking hands, sun spots- all indications that he is a well weathered resident of Woodville. Me and my mother went shopping around the local antique stores. We picked up a few 50's fragrance bottles. In which my mom is beginning her collection with. I got a cool Wedgwood styled cologne bottle (I'll post the picture when I get a camera). 

I have to admit the coolest thing I got when I was up there, was a few pictures of my family. from a photo album in my Grandma's old flat. The pictures are of my mum and her brother Alan. And of my Grandmother herself - Daphne. Who in admittance is really beautiful. her style suited the times, she was always up with the fashions and she knew how to flaunt them.

I love the way my grandmother looks in this picture, so ready for summer!

 

My mother when she was 4 and my Uncle Alan wearing an adorable Pea-coat and matching hat

 

The golden age of Dettol

Unrelated, Dante and Katie in the Sun

    More and more am I becoming vexed by the use of Dettol (antibacterial disinfectant) in everyday life. I feel as though we are living in a golden age of germ and bacteria FEAR! Our children will get sick if they don't wipe down the phone before they call their friends. The middle aged will fall ill because they swiped their credit card without disenfecting it first. The elderly will become brittle if their tea cups at cafe's aren't boiled to a thousand degrees in the dishwasher before their Lady Gray is served to their immaculate standards.

Whereas there are the normal people, the ones that would kiss another, without disinfecting their lips! They don't care if you have cleaned every single archway right through to accent in your home. They aren't necessarily going to come into your house and touch every piece of decor to see if you missed a spot.

This brings me to something entirely perplexing; teenage germ fear. I was walking along the beach with two other friends of mine. The day was surprisingly sunny, strangely enough for Wellington weather. The sun was beaming down upon us as we walked along the pier. The seagulls scavenge amongst the dirty wastes lining the shores. I'm sure any Dettol enthusiast would have a field day testing out their products on the germ infested garbage. However NOT for me and my friends as we were happily walking along enjoying the weather, that is, until I asked if they would be up to walking in the sand with nothing but our bare feet. Instantly they jolted with the response I was unhappy about hearing. "Ew no, thats so dirty, theres so many germs on the beach".

Now at first I tried to persuade them; they were as stiff as a dead rock. Then they carried on walking back to the car. Me, in deep thought over the issue I began to pace slowly behind them. Thinking to myself, 'When I was a kid id never wear shoes, the feeling of the different textures felt so natural to me. So why now is everyone so worried about germs on their feet!? It's not like we eat using our feet. Perhaps in some cultures?'.

So in my conclusion, I ask the world. Have we gone too far? I fear not the bacteria, but the future of our perception on lifes little things.