Sisters are doin' it for themselves

Whenever I tell people I am the middle child in my family, there's always an "Oh no, middle child syndrome". Somehow this notion has been taught to people worldwide, and now folks like me have to constantly hear "poor you" comments and assumptions about how we are somehow sad and marginalised or weirdly attention seeking or cutting ourselves to make the pain of perpetually being piggy in the middle go away.

Whilst I will admit to quite a bit of showboating when I was a kid to get attention (Young Talent Time anyone?), I'd like to believe I'm fairly well adjusted now. But I am most definitely a "middle child" and the reason I know that is because of my big sister M.

M is considerate, serious and grown up and always has been. I am often inconsiderate, and immature and probably always will be.

M puts others' needs first and remembers important family dates. I put others' needs first only for special occasions (which I have only remembered when M has called me to remind me).

M helps my parents with stuff and lets me choose where we're eating for dinner. I help my parents only when M is unavailable (twice in my whole life) and eat whatever the hell I want.

And while this blog may make me sound like a bit of a dickhead (we all have our moments...especially us poor poor middle children) its basically about how good my sister M is.

She is currently guest starring at Alfie's Friend Rolfe to give me a few days off for my birthday. If you pop in you will get to find out how good she really is for yourself. Ask her anything about shoes or accessories. Here is a great picture of us.

All grown up...

OMG!!! I'm sooo in love with these shoes.



When I was a kid I was super girly and flat out refused to wear shoes that weren't shiny patent leather. I had three pairs of little t-bar mary-janes (think little kid orthopaedic ones worn with knee high socks), black was third favourite, navy was second favourite, and then the best best BEST ones were red.

I'd like to believe this pair is the sexy grown up version, and the little girl version of me would clap her chubby dimpled hands and approve of my continuing love affair with shiny red shoes.

They just arrived in store at my shop, and at only $165 you'd better be quick!!

There are plenty more styles to chose from ("My name is Cat, and I am a shoe addict")... email me at alfiesfriendrolfe@bigpond.com for more info.

And the winner is...

From all the buzz on the morning shows in tele, I gather that the Oscars are about to happen. Yep, the Oscars...It's the highest honour for actors and other people involved in the film industry, it's like their Christmas. The Oscars showcase hundreds of gowns for all the top fashion designers. It provides hundreds of jobs for hairdressers, make up artists (and probably a few botox clinics), people laying down red carpets, valets, lighting people and washed up daytime actresses as hosting E! News interviews (Lisa Rinna anyone?).

I admit I'll look through the first few pages of Who Weekly at the checkout next week to scope out what all the starlets wore down the red carpet. And if I'm at the movies and a film is advertised with "Oscar Winner - Best Film" I'll probably give it a go. And I will watch You Tube clips of any major wardrobe malfunctions or accidental swearing. But the Oscars themselves? The long winded speeches? The cringey presenters? The crying? The air kissing? The arse kissing? Puh-leeze!! It goes for HOURS.

Who bloody cares that much? Seriously. I know some people wet themselves over this stuff and even have Oscar parties complete with red carpets, photographers, satin gowns, up-do's and boozing on whilst watching the whole saga streamed live. But why?! If it's just an excuse to have a party whilst you're supposed to be working then I completely understand.

But if you actually love the Oscars...I've never understood the fascination....maybe you can enlighten me? Please state your case so I can be prepared for it next week.



If only it was a bong

Which Boob Are You?

Valentine's Day is looming. Yep, looming...like dark clouds, tax time or an impending bikini wax. But never fear, I'm not about to launch into a tirade about Valentine's Day (another time, I promise), I'm going to let you in on a little secret that could hotten everything up and save you some cash to spend on yourself.

It has come to may attention - after speaking with every guy I know - that when it comes to our most popular womanly asset (boobs, hoo-hoos, titties, cans, taters, rack...they call them so many different names!) there are in fact 3 levels of "Boob", or boob sightings. If you thought wearing your sexy low cut top on V Day was the pinnacle of displaying your Girls then here's a newsflash: your low cut top is actually the bottom rung of Boob.

According to the guys, Side Boob is far far superior to Top Boob (aka normal cleavage). Maybe its because more is on display, but I believe it's because its less likely to happen. To find a picture for this blog (since sadly I don't do side boob too well myself) I entered "side boob" into Google and lo and behold there are entire websites dedicated to this phenomenon!


Lindsay Lohan's extreme Side Boob


However, general consensus is that the most superior Boob of all is the ever elusive Under Boob. In case you're thinking "what the hell is that?!" let me clarify. Its when your boobs stick out the bottom of a crop top. So rare it basically only exists in pornos, 80's video clips and anytime Pamela Anderson is shown on TV. If you thought she just has a penchant for ill fitting tank tops, think again. And you guessed it...when I typed "under boob" into Google there were websites galore. Its proven!


Just another red carpet even for Ms. Anderson, Queen of Under Boob

So for this economically challenged Valentines Day, why not give your man a flash of your Under Boobs? Its free and apparently the best of its kind.

Winter Lover - NEW!!

Every girl's favourite label LOVER has finally put their new collection online for all to see. The Autumn/Winter 09 Collection is called "Sacred Hearts College" and features sailor dresses, cropped blazers, pea coats, duffel coats, letterman bomber jackets, sweatshirts, tartan skirts and trackpants, and all sorts of other sexy schoolgirl inspired pieces. Depending on how its worn, you can be naughty or nice...just like at school! Bring on the knee socks girls...

(Actually on the subject of knee socks: DO NOT wear them if you have a chubby bit hanging over the top. You've been told. Can you get liposuction there? If so I'm getting it. Otherwise instead of knee socks I will need compression stockings, which are so not hot)

Of course I have placed a nice order for the shop (and for myself...hey, it can't be helped). I am getting loads of inquiries now and am taking names down to allocate the pieces available so please email me at alfiesfriendrolfe@bigpond.com if you're after more information.

In the meantime...here's some pictures to drool over.

More Rolls Than The Bakery

Just when I thought I'd got away unscathed...the representatives of Fitness First at Kings Cross finally came by the shop with free membership passes.

It's already been open for over a year and my shop is just a stones throw away. I thought those hand-selected ultra fit, ultra tanned and ultra perky gym reps could sniff out flabby arms and fleshy thighs from miles away, but perhaps the smells emanating from Kings Cross negate this ability.

So I suspect that maybe they heard from the Infinity Bakery about my love of fruit buns for morning tea (hence I now have more rolls than the bakery). Or maybe the 24 hour newsagency blabbed about my daily afternoon chocolate treat.

In any case the reps thought they better come and find me for once and for all and finally turn me from ample size to sample size.

Stay tuned. Right now it's Coke Zero and Milky Way time.

New!! Diet Rentals

I need to move to a new apartment.

(I just felt your sympathy wash over me in a collective "oh no...poor you")

A helpful friend emailed me a property listed on a website which seemed perfect...Roomy lounge area, excellent outlook, huge balcony, and all within my price range. So I excitedly went along to inspect the property last week and have come to the following conclusion:

Wide angle lens photography on an apartment for rent is like a skinny mirror in a shop's changeroom...IT'S CRUEL! It preys on the vulnerable and the hopeful. It's the worst form of false advertising and you get totally sucked in only to learn the harsh truth when its already too late and your once bright shining hope has already turned to anger and distrust.

Maybe it was a "BEFORE and AFTER" special?

"Hi my name is Potential Apartment and I've lost over 30 square metres in only 2 weeks!!!"

BEFORE


AFTER

Thick as a brick

So I just got back from a very well earned week long escape to an isolated beach on the south coast. It was heaven...swimming, eating, swimming, eating...you get the idea.

But I have a slight problem now (apart from the constant pining for another beach holiday). Its my tan. You see...some people go chocolate brown. Some people go golden brown (And yes yes, some people get burnt to a crisp and I'm sorry, you may stop reading if you wish). But I'm different. I always struggled to come up with a name for the colour I become. Until last week when I got back from my fabulous holidays and a friend of mine exclaimed:

"Oh my god you're so tanned! Just like terracotta"

She nailed it. I'm terracotta. I'm ochre. I'm the colour of a roof tile, or a brick...in other words, baked clay. You remember the guy from The Fantastic Four...the guy made of rock? Yeah I look a bit like that.

Here is a picture of me when I got back from holidays.