Well, that was awkward.

Billasaurus has been doing renovations for over 12 months- consequently we have been living in a construction site which has had it's interesting moments. (Last night I slept in our house without a front window. Yup. Fun.)

As Billasaurus is a plumber he is able to do a lot of the work himself, and where he can't, his group of friends trade favours. (Work favours; get your mind out of the gutter!)

This means there has been a plethora of tradespeople at my home day in, day out. Some days, the house is covered in dust and I discover my vintage teacup sets have smashed because some bright spark has decided they will jackhammer near the wall where they are stored. Or they decide that today is the day they all want to use the grinders/tile cutters/some other weird saw things when it's exam study day for uni. But there are also days when there are shirtless men toiling and sweating around my house, so I mean you win some, you lose some.

These guys: all welcome. I'm a great host like that.

We've gotten to know them all quite well, and one in particular has introduced us to his heavily pregnant wife.

Anyway, this chap's wife had the baby which is all very exciting. Billasaurus told me they had had a little boy, so I went out and go a little blue outfit, toy and wrote them out a card congratulating them on the birth of their newborn son.

Billasaurus was going to see the new family before I was, so I passed on the gift for him to give to the family. He came back raving all about how he got to hold the new baby; Samantha Jane was so tiny!

SAMANTHA JANE?! Turns out, they have a healthy baby girl. Not boy. Girl.

I am absolutely mortified. Bill swears he told me they had a daughter, and I'm vehement he said son. I specifically remember him saying it! 

Why would I have bought the blue and green onesie if he said daughter?! I specifically congratulation them on their son in the card, too :/

Gah.

Be a Mexican, Not a Mexican't!

Please be very, very careful when reading out that post title.

Three of my close friends have birthdays only a week apart, so naturally every year there is triple-the-fun shindig in their honour.

This year, the three amigos decided to (quite logically) choose the theme of the party to be Mexican.

Naturally, my first thought was this costume-

Buy one here. Seriously, live my dream and do it.

Billasaurus, however patient the man is, drew a line at the taco suit. I got it in my head that there was no point in going alone as a taco, because really, who ever just has one taco? Unfortunately he wasn't so keen, and considering ive forced him to dress as the worlds tallest Gremlin before, I figure I'm still ahead.

So instead I went as Frida Kahlo!

I appear to have missed a little something during my last plucking session

The real and magnificent Frida herself-

I love the vibrant colours she used in her self-portraits, and her style. I think its pretty badass too not to pluck your monobrow and 'stache too- why should women feel ashamed of something that is quite normal? What percentage of men actually give a fuck? Definitely not the majority.

That being said, I shall continue to wax and pluck but admire the hell out of people who don't give a fuck.

The night began with pre-drinks at my tiny little flat (single file only, standing room but plenty of booze) drinking simply put, the beverage of The Gods.

Let me share with you this complicated recipe. Don't worry about a pen, I think you'll be able to recall it.

Source

I'm not joking- it tastes like magic and unicorns! To be more specific, it tastes just like the clear gummi bears! Where has this been all of my life?!

My skills with eye pencil drawing monobrows must be my hidden talent, because all night men were whispering and giggling in my direction. It was quite disconcerting, because I forgot that this little gem was painted upon my face. To be honest most of the time I was thinking, 'GOSH I KNOW IM NOT A PRETTY GIRL, BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TO FLAT OUT LAUGH IN MY FACE!!!'

Der. They were looking at the giant fuzzy caterpillar perched atop my brow.

It was actually quite the conversation starter, and there was one gentleman (I use this term loosely) who was obsessed with stroking my monobrow even though there was no actual hair there, and offered for me to stay the night at his residence.

I got the impression he wasn't keen on my despite the brow, but BECAUSE of it. Different strokes for different folks, hey?