Everyday, I encounter someone who is wearing one of my seven most hated items. It makes me want roll on the ground screaming "WHY?!?!?" while methodically beating them over the head with two years worth of Vogues that live in my room, cursing whoever put the idea into their head that they look good.
Far be it for me to think that my opinion on what looks good is gold, I'm sure my own personal tendency to wear leggings as pants pisses many people off.. but seriously..
1) White boots: I want to drag these off every single girl I see wearing them and throw them back to the 80's. White boots? Come on. One wears boots in winter. In winter it rains, and makes mud. Mud makes white boots even dirty than they are, just for being white boots. I vote no.
2) Top hats on girls: I do not care if your prowess in the tap-dancing field envies Fred Astaire and you feel like sharing this by wearing your top hat around in day-to-day life, you look like a banana.
3) Sleeveless turtlenecks: My petulance for sleeveless turtlenecks probably comes from my own past, and one outfit that embodies this hate and the next.. I dont understand the idea behind this. You're either wearing a turtleneck, or a short sleeved shirt. You can't do both. You just can't.
4) Horizontal Stripes: Let me clarify this. Some people, like my sister, look really really good in horizontal stripes. Some people, who chose to wear block coloured striped oversized v-neck jumpers DO NOT. Especially when paired with Adidas three stripe tracksuit pants. Sigh.
5) Hoop earrings: I do not care, if you are J.Lo, Snooki from Jersey Shore, or pure latina, hoop earrings make you look like a prostitute. Even worse than normal hoop earrings, coloured hoop earrings. Jersey Shore you and your entertaining, but hoop earring wearing girls are the main culprit of this. But i still love them.
6) Jeans and runners: Commonly known as Junners, i want to staple things to the head of every person i see rocking this combination, common among mothers over 40 and the like. While i acknowledge the functionality of the outfit.. you still look like a fool.
7) Wrong bra girls: ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Possibly my most hated faux pas. How hard is it to match the right bra with the right outfit? BACKLESS IS BACKLESS FOR A REASON!!! There has been a revolution of appropriate bra wear - stick on bras, extended back straps that pull your bra down, adhesive tape.. the list is endless! I have to resist the urge to snap open the clasp of every wrong bra wearing girl i see, just to teach them a lesson. Clear bra straps are not a resolution to this problem either. They possibly look worse.
But hey.
I wear leggings as pants.
What of it?
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Friday, 29 July 2011
the only italian in the world who can't cook.
I can't cook. There. I admitted it. While most Italians are born with a wooden spoon in their hand (doubling as a convenient tool for discipline on misbehaving children), screaming "MANGIA" and making meatballs, this gene appears to have skipped me completely.
I don't understand the concept of time management and multitasking, two skills apparently imperative to cooking prowess. This has resulted in many things being burnt, overcooked, undercooked, dropped and my ego therefore = damaged.
There was one incident even when I set my stove-top on fire, and then had a pan explode in the sink. Apparently hot oil and hot water don't mix.. who knew?
The extent of my cooking ability ranges from toast to soft boiled eggs, even both at the same time on a good day. Also recently, much to my families joy, I learnt how to whip cream. However, these abilities do not extend to apple muffins, which were tried and failed recently.
Determined to prove to myself that I am NOT kitchenly impaired, apple muffins seemed the perfect snack to accompany a night of Jersey Shore watching with my friend..who likes to amuse himself with the idea of how incredibly retarted I am at necessary life activities.
Yeah. So awkwardly enough, he might be right.
All seemed well and good initally and I proudly put my muffins into the oven with a smug smile, picturing everyone raving about how good they are, with my sister revoking her claim to being the best dessert chef in the whole wide world.
Apparently cooking time is meant to be adhered to, and 12 - 15 minutes means just that, not 20 - 25 minutes because you get distracted reading Vogue. Real chefs don't get distracted. So I'm told.
I come up with the brilliant plan to disguise the somewhat burnt but still edible muffins with icing sugar, Hello Masterchef, not all is lost.
My sister, who mind you - is possibly one of the best cooks I know, was eager to taste my toils, probably envisaging a day where she doesnt kick me out of the kitchen asking if I am "frigging retarted" after an incident that saw me not arranging sprinkles to her satisfaction.
It was she who poked her head in the bathroom while I was still basking in culinary glory, asking if I had time to make another batch before I left. Hello, confusion! Had she loved them so much that she wanted to eat them all, and share them with her friends and rave about how her sister might knock her off her dessert mantle?
Apparently not.
Did anyone else know that baking powder and baking soda aren't the same thing? I didn't. I do now.
My sister informed me that they were so awful that she had to spit it into the bin, and then forced me to take a giant bite out of my own mishap. I may aswell have dived into a large vat of salt with my mouth open after consuming an apple. The insides of one was even red. Not even my dad wanted to eat them. My dad once ate a baby turtle in Japan so not to offend his hosts. He said, and I quote "I wanted to die. They just got worse with each bite." Culinary prowess - shattered.
My mother, who was so proud that her youngest daughter might grow up to do something better than present her future grandchildren with soft-boiled eggs everyday of their life, soothed my shattered ego, reassuring me that I would never make the same mistake again, if I ever ventured into the world of apple muffins for more humiliation.
I probably won't.
It's probably safer for everyone.
julia.
I don't understand the concept of time management and multitasking, two skills apparently imperative to cooking prowess. This has resulted in many things being burnt, overcooked, undercooked, dropped and my ego therefore = damaged.
There was one incident even when I set my stove-top on fire, and then had a pan explode in the sink. Apparently hot oil and hot water don't mix.. who knew?
The extent of my cooking ability ranges from toast to soft boiled eggs, even both at the same time on a good day. Also recently, much to my families joy, I learnt how to whip cream. However, these abilities do not extend to apple muffins, which were tried and failed recently.
Determined to prove to myself that I am NOT kitchenly impaired, apple muffins seemed the perfect snack to accompany a night of Jersey Shore watching with my friend..who likes to amuse himself with the idea of how incredibly retarted I am at necessary life activities.
Yeah. So awkwardly enough, he might be right.
All seemed well and good initally and I proudly put my muffins into the oven with a smug smile, picturing everyone raving about how good they are, with my sister revoking her claim to being the best dessert chef in the whole wide world.
Apparently cooking time is meant to be adhered to, and 12 - 15 minutes means just that, not 20 - 25 minutes because you get distracted reading Vogue. Real chefs don't get distracted. So I'm told.
I come up with the brilliant plan to disguise the somewhat burnt but still edible muffins with icing sugar, Hello Masterchef, not all is lost.
My sister, who mind you - is possibly one of the best cooks I know, was eager to taste my toils, probably envisaging a day where she doesnt kick me out of the kitchen asking if I am "frigging retarted" after an incident that saw me not arranging sprinkles to her satisfaction.
It was she who poked her head in the bathroom while I was still basking in culinary glory, asking if I had time to make another batch before I left. Hello, confusion! Had she loved them so much that she wanted to eat them all, and share them with her friends and rave about how her sister might knock her off her dessert mantle?
Apparently not.
Did anyone else know that baking powder and baking soda aren't the same thing? I didn't. I do now.
My sister informed me that they were so awful that she had to spit it into the bin, and then forced me to take a giant bite out of my own mishap. I may aswell have dived into a large vat of salt with my mouth open after consuming an apple. The insides of one was even red. Not even my dad wanted to eat them. My dad once ate a baby turtle in Japan so not to offend his hosts. He said, and I quote "I wanted to die. They just got worse with each bite." Culinary prowess - shattered.
My mother, who was so proud that her youngest daughter might grow up to do something better than present her future grandchildren with soft-boiled eggs everyday of their life, soothed my shattered ego, reassuring me that I would never make the same mistake again, if I ever ventured into the world of apple muffins for more humiliation.
I probably won't.
It's probably safer for everyone.
julia.
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