So, blahblahblah we took a freakishly long break. We’re back now. For good. We think. Etc.


Laura totally outed me in the last post and I hate her guts now.

I turn 30 in exactly 33 days. On the 14th of April I will cross the all important, though admittedly probably imaginary threshold into irrelevancy. Once you turn 30 you can no longer be taken seriously as ‘youthful.’ You are a legitimate grown ass person. Even if your job sucks and you’re not married and have no kids. You may not fully understand your credit card statements or how to do your taxes, but none of this matters. Hippies don’t trust you any more, and you are old.

Top 40 radio stations don’t cater to you. You can’t shop in Forever21 or Dynamite or buy super trendy, shoddily made accessories at Claire’s or Ardene. You’re only really allowed to go to an animated movie if you’re with an actual ‘youth’, unless of course you desire to be thought of as a creep. You can maybe still go to the cool bar, depending on the city you’re in. But you can be sure you’ll have to compete with youthful young ladies. In those trendy dresses with the sheer d├ęcolletage. Sure sure, if you were 29 it would be no big deal. We’re all in our twenties after all. But in 33 days? Well, in 33 day’s I’ll be 30. I’m pretty sure that when I wake up in 33 days (which by the way is also historically a very bad day:Lincoln was assassinated, Titanic hit the iceberg, and my grandfather fucking died on my 16th birthday) I will have brand new old person laugh lines, and a bunion, and probably a bad shoulder from an old football injury or whatever.

I’m joking, of course. I mean, mostly. 30 really does seem like the biggest numerical transition since I moved into double digits. The differences between 10 and 20 are so wildly obvious, it’s silly to even compare them. But moving from our twenties into thirties feels different. The twenties are this weird hybrid decade where you’re still really just a kid, at least for the first few years. You’re supposedly setting yourself up for your thirties and beyond. You stay out too late, don’t get hangovers, have no fear and you believe in the power of things. Things like positivity, and yoga and the healing properties of cookie dough ice cream. You also have more energy than any human person should. You go to class, you volunteer, you apply for all the jobs, you party. Everything is a possibility. And now as I inch closer to 30 (33 days), those things do seem, sadly I think, a little less a part of who I am. I do get hangovers, I don’t have boundless energy, I do feel limited. Worst of all I’ve realised cookie dough is a cruel joke played by the universe to make us both joyful and fat. What a drag, right? God. Sorry.

But wait! Don’t slit your wrists in a warm bath tub just yet!

In the last few months, as I’ve watched the 30th anniversary of my birth approach, I’ve thought a lot about what 30 might mean. But, I’ve realised that being 20 is also not that great. Everything may have been a possibility, but it was also terrifying. I didn’t go away to University, because I was too scared. I didn’t break up with my shitty boyfriend (two shitty boyfriends, actually) because I was too scared. Even more recently, I haven’t applied for or really chased a lot of opportunities, because I was too scared. Ten years later I’d hardly call myself brave, but I can pick up the phone to order a pizza or book a hotel room without literally writing out a script before hand.

There are a lot of benefits of being a little older. I don’t have to go to class any more. Honestly, I always really liked school. The academic atmosphere makes me feel special and a part of something important.You know what I don’t like though? 8 a.m. three hour classes and trudging across campus in a blizzard because fucking UWO wouldn’t cancel a damn class. Good luck with that shit undergraduates. Now I have to go to work. I don’t get graded arbitrarily and they pay me. Weird, right?

I still believe in the power of yoga and positivity. I have however also learned the power of accepting when things are shitty and telling someone to go to hell if I need to. Also, I will never be able to do crane pose. Them’s the breaks.

A lot of bad ass people get started in their thirties. Martha Stewart didn’t begin her career as the best person in the world at literally everything until her 30’s. Oprah got her own show at 30. My very own father started his business in his 30’s and more than two decades later is happier than ever. I myself plan to move out of my parents basement very soon. So, there is that.

Plus, total babes like Mila Kunis, Charlize Theron, Jessica Chastain and our own icon of wonder Duchess Kate don’t show outward sings of their impending laugh lines, bunions or sporting injuries, right? You can still be figureing your shit out at 30. Pretty much everyone is. Even the weirdos who do understand their credit card statements are struggling somehow, I know it. Most importantly though, you don’t magically turn into a disgusting old crone-pumpkin at the stroke if midnight either.

The bottom line: I’m feeling conflicted about Thirty. But I think I’ll be ok.

Look, I’ll let you know in 33 days. If you don’t hear from me, I guess you can find me in that warm tub we talked about.



Anyone who knows me (and I feel like we’ve been at this blogging thing long enough now to say that you know me) knows that I don’t like to make decisions. I don’t mean big life decisions. I picked a university and a career path, I’ll move cities at the drop of a hat. I just don’t like to be in charge of day to day piddly things. Where do you want to go for dinner or which movie do you want to see can literally stop me in my tracks.

Oh, I know, you must be thinking how wonderful it would be to date me or be my best friend. Ask anyone who has occupied these positions and they’ll tell you it’s downright wonderful to get to be my buddy. That is until decision time comes.

I don’t do it to be difficult, or as some weird test to see if people know what I like and will pick accordingly. It’s just that for the most part I’m wildly apathetic. I truly don’t care if we have chinese or pizza. I LOVE THEM BOTH! How could I choose? Seriously, the chinese vs. pizza debate is like Sophie’s Choice in my heart. (stomach?) I could care less if we see Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis fall in love or watch Jason Statham blow shit up. Love and explosions, they both appeal to me, so I make my loved ones choose.

So here’s the point. I have a wedding this weekend. I love a wedding. The dresses, the flowers, the romance. The potential for free booze and food and bad decsions. Sadly, attending a wedding presents me with choices I’m not prepared to make on my own. What will I wear?

I’m one of those people who likes to change between ceremony and reception. I feel like at the ceremony one should be a little more conservative and day time appropriate and the reception is a time to pull out all the stops and really pull out your nightlife attire. This wedding is at a casino so I feel like the potential for swinging nightlife dresses and jewels is off the charts.

So, dear readers, below I present to you my outfit options for this wedding. I NEED YOU TO DECIDE FOR ME.


To sleeve or not to sleeve

I love the colour and unusual silhouette of the sleevless one, but I really like the idea of a sleeved dress at the ceremony. Plus, it looks like its going to be freezeing here this weekend. Discuss.

boobs or legs?

As for the reception, these aren’t the exact dresses I own, but they’ll do the trick. My version of the blue (boobs) is actually only blue in the bust with the rest being a body hugging black pencil skirt. Ooo la la. The strapless black(legs) that I own is sort of a black and gold brocade. They both make me feel wonderful. So, I cannot decide. Boobs are legs, people. BOOBS OR LEGS?! I’m of an age that I can’t do both.

Seriously, I need you guys to do this for me in the comments

Get your popcorn ready…the Oscars are tonight! Here are our fave gowns from the past decade

It is now less than 24 hours until the 2012 Academy Awards kick off at the newly re-named Hollywood and Hyland Theatre. That means it is even less time until the joy that is the red carpet begins. Steph and I will be in our respective pajama’s (yes at 5pm, don’t you judge us) on our respective couches surrounded by snacks, tweeting every moment.

Just to get you in the high fashion mood we present to you a few of our favourite gowns from the past decade!

Kate Winslet in Ben de Lisi in 2002:

Michelle Williams in Vera Wang in 2006:

Halle Berry in Marchesa in 2011:

Charlize Theron in Christian Dior in 2005:

Julia Roberts in Vintage Valentino in 2001:

And last but not least, our absolute favourite – the dress we would both get married in – Mila Kunis in Elie Saab in 2011:

So, meet us on the virtual Twitter red carpet tonight at 5:30! We can share some virtual sour patch kids and chat about the dresses!

P.S. what are your favourite Oscar gowns?

Tweedley tweedley tweets