About a month ago, I turned 21. In Australia, turning 21 isn't the hugest deal ever (since we're legal at 18) but we love to party and celebrate it anyway. Besides, my eighteenth passed without any excitement whatsoever, so I felt entitled to this. I planned to throw a party at a classy bar - one with unlimited gourmet pizzas and fancy cocktails served in glasses rimmed with hundreds and thousands. But guess what? They wouldn't let me have glitter. Ummm, clearly they haven't met me. The theme was glitter! So instead we dressed up in sequins and threw confetti around my backyard. And now, a month later, I'm still waking up with specks of sparkle on my face.

did i spend months handmaking glittery decorations instead of studying? why, yes i did. oops.

i love these people a lot. like, a lot.

It was a great night. I'm not really used to playing the host role, and I had a few groups of friends there that didn't know each other, so I spent the first few hours flitting from group to group and worrying if people were getting along. Finally my homegirl (lol) sat me down and gave me a drink and life was lovely from there.

My friends are so fucking great. Ugh, I love them a lotlot. A lotlotlot, even. I'd list the ways they spoiled me with presents but I'd be going on forever. One I will mention, though, because it's about to become very relevant to my blog: a Diana F+ lomography film camera. WHAAAAAT? Yep, all my work buddies pitched in and gave me the best present I could ask for. As it turns out, shooting film is really hard (lol duh Dinah), but I'm improving. My second roll of film wasn't nearly as disastrous as my first. I'm planning to share the photos on here.

Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes, and for being generally amazing people. Much love! And happy Christmas! *blowing kiss emoji*

currently reading: 1d fanfic, because when am i not?
currently (re)watching: queer as folk, season 2
currently listening to: i jumped on the taylor swift bandwagon YAY

ooooooh little saint nick

Are you in the Christmas spirit? I'm in the Christmas spirit. Now that my birthday has come and gone (I turned 21, wooo! - more on that later) all my attention is now on Christmas! Honestly it's my favourite time of year. My family has never been religious but we always celebrated Christmas anyway. For me, it's a time of friends and family and hot sticky weather and endless seafood. That and Christmas pudding. Mmm, so good. Cherries are up there, too.

Ever since I can remember (and aside from one-off exceptions), Christmas has been spent at my family friends' house. Their family contains my mum's best friend and my older brother's best friend since they were three or four. How fucking cute, right? Unfortunately for me, the timing of their second child didn't line up very well with my birth, so usually I'm hanging around awkwardly making small talk with aunts and uncles while the bestie pairs are off bestie-ing, but it is what it is. (One foot in the cradle, one foot in the grave.)

Every few years, mum likes to pull out the good old Let-Embarrass-Dianna photos, category: Christmas dressups. We're talking elves, fairies, crocodiles. The whole lot. And never one of those store-bought complete costumes. Nope, I made these from scratch, with odds and ends I'd find around the place. I'm a creative one, hey. I haven't worn elf shoes to Christmas lunch in years, but I'm still into the colour coordinating thing. It's pretty cute, if I may say so myself.

Maybe it's that I'm actually looking, but this year I'm finding loads of Christmas jumpers on many websites. They're so adorable. I'm definitely getting one. The one I have my eye on, though, is out of stock at the moment (CAN I CRY) so my plan is to refresh the page over the next week and hope for the best. I need it, okay? (It's the Christmas tree one below. Don't buy it, you jerks.)

Speaking of Christmassy things, do you like the lovely lights on my blog? Yes, yes you do.

I'll get around to posting about my birthday shenanigans soon. Waiting for photos to be developed. Hohoho!

Currently watching: Queer As Folk season one (the feels!!)
Currently listening to: One Direction's new album "Four" is fucking good okay
Currently reading: Hollister's shipping terms and conditions, because of course I am

21 Things You Can Do to Avoid Writing Your Essay

1. pick up extra shifts at your retail job
2. paint glitter onto feathers and cups and your face

3. spend a long time cleaning up the glittery mess
4. wander around the newly-opened H&M, buying one direction t-shirts and more hoodies you don't need

5. eat a whole packet of gummy worms on the 15 minute train ride home
6. actually go to class
7. convince your brother to bake a cake with you
8. dip salted crackers into the mocha batter and realise you've created a new superfood
9. play with glittery icing

10. wonder just why there's glitter all over your bedroom.
11. paint your toenails
12. decide it looks horrible and redo it
13. reread a 100k+ word fanfic
14. for the fifth time
15. buy some fabric dye and a white shirt and make a lovely mess
16. scan and post on facebook those instax photos you never got around to doing

17. rewatch snow white and the seven dwarves
18. hang solar fairy lights outside your bedroom window

19. answer the door for the postman in your pjs and yesterday's eyeliner
20. laze around in bed, whinging for your cat to come cuddle you
21. marvel over the fact that you're very nearly twenty one years old and still have no self control. incredible.

I'm not saying I have done all of these in the last week, but I'm also not saying I haven't. Chins up, children. Semester's nearly over. (For me, anyway.)

confetti sheets are a thing i need

Am I the only one ecstatic about Cotton On's new bedroom range?

Perhaps it's an odd hobby (my brother: "you know different brands of sheets?") but I love love love homemaking. You might be able to tell from my love affair with IKEA and constant pins on Pinterest. It's my fashion, I think. I should totally write a post about how to settle in your nest. Yep, no makeup tutorials from me. But sheets? I can do. Anyway...

What am I doing right now? Typing this, of course, but I'm also leaning my elbows on my study notes as I comb the Cotton On website to find the last ten cents to grant me free shipping. First world problem, am I right?

The Cotton On website and Facebook claim the kids range will be in select stores over the coming week, but I'm too impatient and desperate for these sprinkle sheets to wait any longer. I have to have them. (It's payday. I'm allowed.)

I'm sure I'll Instagram the hell out of these babies once they arrive. Can't wait? Me either.


For those of you who don't know me very well, I used to be a huge TV addict. My tv-binging habits reached their peak in my last couple of years of high school. It got to the point where I couldn't feel anything unless it was triggered by a show. Perhaps not the healthiest diet, I know. But it was what I knew. In fact, my TV addiction lead me to meet some wonderful people from all over the world, many of whom I'm still close with today. (Shoutout to my lovelies; they know who they are!)

These days my fangirlish obsessions revolve around a silly British boyband of silly dumb boys. Between that, uni and work, I don't have much time for TV. (No seriously, I spend all my free time reading One Direction fanfiction, I'm the coolest kid ever.) But a couple of months ago I started watching Finding Carter.

Kathryn Prescott is the reason I started. She plays the main character, Carter, a girl whose world is turned this way and that when she learns she was abducted at three years old and her mum is not her actual mother. You might recognise her from Skins, where she played Emily Fitch, adorable munchkin and twin sister to "Katie Fucking Fitch", played by Meg Prescott.

Carter is quite different from Emily. In fact, I see more parallels between Carter and Katie, in some aspects. But Kathryn does a mind blowing job and tugs at my feels and tear ducts every episode. She also puts on a pretty fucking fantastic American accent, too. Props to you, m'dear.

My favourite thing about the show is the complex relationships. Each character is so multi-layered in a way that's not as common as it should be on popular television. In addition to Carter, I also love Taylor, her (non identical) twin sister, played by Anna Jacoby-Heron. Kathryn seems to like playing twins, it seems! (Same, gurl. Same.) The sisters seem to have a love-hate relationship that's never ever dull. I find myself squealing when they do sister-y things (wearing identical bday dresses!) but I also find myself heavily invested in both of their issues. Think it sucks to be the girl who was abducted and then found? Think of her sister. Fuuuuuck, that's crazy.

The whole family has so many dynamics happening all at once. There's Elizabeth, Carter's real mother and tough cop with a heart of squish. Also Grant, younger brother and replacement child after Carter went missing. (He's pretty ace.) I can't for the life of me remember the name of the father, which I could Google, yes, but I guess that's an indicator of how much I care about his character. Alright, that's mean. But true.

Carter's "mum", also known as her abductor, is an interesting one. I got the feeling in the first few episodes that we were supposed to be rooting for her to get Carter back and restore their freakish sibling-like relationship, but as the episodes roll by and I get to know the Wilson family more and more, I want that bitch gone. Fuck off, crazy psycho. I get the impression that's how I'm supposed to feel. :)

I could say a lot more, but I don't want to spoil anyone. Just go watch it already and then come and feel things with me okkk?

All in all, Finding Carter makes my Wednesdays a lot more lovely. I think you should watch the first episode.


featuring oceany wonders, music festivals & my strong selfie game.

A Sunday Story.

When I was a kid, Sundays were the most depressing day ever. There were the typical end-of-the-weekend & pack-your-bag-for-school-tomorrow woes but for me it was more than that. Up until I was about twelve, I spent every second weekend at my dad's house. Sundays meant I'd be driven back to mum's. Don't get me wrong, I love both my parents. I loved weekends at my dad's just as much as weekends at my mum's. But they were two completely different places where I had to be two completely different people. At mum's house, I was the youngest. I usually got my way. Mum and I would get in the car and she'd ask me where to? I'm ten years old, I don't know! At dad's, I was the middle kid. Quieter and less sociable than the others, I lived in silence. Nobody asked me where to drive to.

breakfast: french toast made with fresh eggs from the neighbour's chickens

At dad's, there were people to play with, things to do. My step-siblings and I used to put on "shows" on Saturday nights. This usually meant we'd grab mops and chairs and blankets and fashion a curtain of sorts in the living room, then prance around 'backstage' before getting up to sing and dance in front of "the parents". It was always a lot of fun. My favourite part of staying at dad's, though, was bedtime when he'd read to me. This continued up until I was about ten. Sometimes, if he was tired, I'd read to him instead. It was a little slice of childhood, when I got my father all to myself.

Mum's felt more like home. It was where I grew up, where I lived during the week, where I could be myself. Once my brother hit his teenage years and decided his little sister was not the coolest, I spent those weekends either alone or trailing after mum. Her house was a place where I could paint my bedroom door in fluorescent acrylic colours and not get in trouble. It was where I could sob my heart out at night and not have to explain myself. It was where my two kittens lived, and once we adopted them, I wasn't leaving.

what's a weekend off without playing with glitter?

nope, not the hollister website. you must be mistaken. ;)

5pm on a Sunday evening was the epitome of sadness. My step-siblings would have been picked up and sent home, and I'd sit in my dad's gravel driveway after waving them off, combing my fingers through the dirty stones. My brother would be hiding in our room, nose probably in a book. Dad would probably be finishing up in the shed, getting ready to take us home. That moment always felt so fragile, like I knew if I moved too suddenly, I'd break something.

3pm and still in my pyjamas.

next door's grumpy cat being grumpy. ft: the chickens who gave me breakfast.

Dad would drive us home through the familiar streets, a left on Boundary, right on Fontaine. And then we'd be home and the goodbyes would happen. I'd lug all my shit up the front stairs and find my mum cooking something fancy-smelling in the kitchen. The smell of my house always hit me hard. You know how you don't notice how your home smells until you've been away for a while? Yeah. The smell was what tripped me up. How I'd grown so used to the smell of dad's house over the weekend, and now I was back here and it smelled different, and tomorrow it would seem normal and then next week dad's would smell odd. It's what always set me off.

sun! in august! holy wow.

and here i actually sat down to catch up on uni notes.

Mum, if you ever read this, I'm sorry. I know I was a grumpy little shit on Sunday nights. But I couldn't really help it. I know you think I didn't want to be there with you but I did, I really did. I was a little girl being pulled in too many directions and I was bound to snap. Your house always smelled so homey. I still don't know if my tears were happy or sad.

writing letters! if you want one send your address to

my brother made this just to make me smile. he is truly the cuter sibling.

These days, Sundays mean either a day spent working retail & dining with good friends or else they mean lazy home cooked meals, pyjamas all day, thinking about past woes, some kind of glitter craft & a new episode of The Tunnel (starring Clémence Poésy as my favourite character, like, ever).

mum's vegetarian lasagne OMNOMNOM

I suppose Sundays aren't so bad anymore.

elephants are kindly but they're dumbbbb

Here are a bunch of photos I took at the zoo way back in January and never got around to posting.


I feel like I'm stuck in an awkward phase between childhood and adulthood. Some days I spend cuddled up with fluffy blankets and stuffed toys, calling my mum at work for a pick-me-up chat. Other days I spend running to and from work, running errands, running home for a shower between outings, running out of time. I'm trying to find the balance.

As a teenager, I lived a very sheltered life. My school friends weren't the types to go to wild parties of underage drinking and to be honest, neither was I. Now, at twenty, I find myself lounged on an almost stranger's bed, staring at the ceiling as my vision goes blurry and sharp and blurry and sharp all at once and my face is tingling and people are talking but I don't know what they're saying and I wonder how I got here. I just want to be in my own bed, snuggled up with Pooh Bear. I can't find the balance.

And then I'm trying to impress older guys. Look at me! my lipstick screams. I'm not just a silly little girl! But I totally am, and I realise this as I call my mum to pick me up because I can't handle life for another second without a cuddle. She asks why I'm crying and I say I don't know and the saddest part is it's the truth.

It's my day off and I make plans to feel better. I write a list and everything. Sleep, it says. Washing. Lie in le sun like a cat. Have a good cry. Make something. It's 12pm and I haven't done a single thing on the list.

I haven't taken my camera out for a play in a very, very long time.

the hydrangea fairy.

When I was younger I had a yellow cardboard shoebox hidden in the overgrown grass beside the swing. I used it to send letters to the fairies at the top of my garden. They always wrote back. It was usually silly little comments, like how school was doing and how I should play nice with my brother. To be honest, it didn't matter what the letters said; I was just happy to be getting mail. (I'm twenty years old and still feel the same way.)

In some ways the fairies were my first friends. From a very early age, I spent a lot of time holed up in my imagination, making daisy chains with tiny winged people and sleeping in silky hammocks pegged underneath mushrooms. I guess I have carried my love of those imaginary friends throughout my life. I mean, hey, my Pinterest username is fairiies. I don't plan to let go.

Last week, in the midst of a midnight beach adventure, conversation turned to birthdays. My twenty-first is coming up, surprisingly quickly. (I'm at the point in my life where all I do is go to 21st parties.) Dress ups are fun, aren't they? Do you want me to tell you about how I wasn't allowed to go trick or treating and so I wrapped myself in a bright green curtain (I do wonder about that curtain sometimes), pretending to be a crocodile, and wriggled around the house? Point is, dress ups are fun. The last fancy dress party I went to was last Christmas and it was Gatsby themed. Pretty bloody awesome, if I may say so myself.

I bought the top shown below in my most recent online shopping binge. The sequins are actually much more colourful than they look in the picture. It's basically me down to a T. In my wardrobe are the fairy wings I got from this year's Easter show. All I need now is a tulle skirt. Do you see where I'm going with this?

Yeah. I want to throw a fairy-themed 21st.

top from boohoo, hair wreath from sweetlittlesparrow @ etsy

Just imagine all the glittery things I could use as decoration! And the fairy bread! The invitations! Holy crap I'm so excited.

(Sad story: Eventually the fairies stopped replying. Mum said rats or possums had chased them away. It wasn't until many, many years later that I realised the resemblance between my fairy replies and mum's shopping list. End of childhood.)

let it go

There is something so utterly calming about minimalism. I often fall to sleep dreaming of a white-walled room containing a bed, fluffy white blankets and little else. The less stuff you own, the less your stuff owns you. I do have a habit of collecting odds and ends wherever I go, but I'm slightly proud and slightly horrified to reveal that I'm also pretty damn good at throwing things away.

When I was a child, let's say about seven or eight, maybe, I decided to practice a fire drill. At home. Because, you know, I'm such a cool kid. When the orange flames began licking at the edges of my imagination, I bundled up my precious junk and stopped, dropped and rolled it out into my backyard. There, I relaxed on the damn grass, far from any fiery smoke. But to my horror, I had left something behind. "You can't go back in," my mum said. "The building's on fire." And thus began my obsession with minimising my possessions. I live in fear of the day I realise I've left something precious behind. So I try not to get too attached to physical objects. People and memories are enough.

I'm trying to declutter my life. But as a student with too many textbooks and clothes and crafty bits and pieces, it's difficult. So I like to plan. In an ideal world, I'd have a white apartment with only necessities. That dream is a fair way off, but I collect ideas anyway. This is what my perfect apartment would be like:

I do miss that scratch-n-sniff t-shirt I had when I was thirteen. But let's be honest, it wouldn't fit me anymore. And the memory of it is so much better than the actual shirt ever was.

So give it a try. Take a deep breath. And let it go.

not my photos: can be found here on my pinterest board. lmk if one of these is yours.

glitter in her veins.

I quite like sparkly things. This should come as a surprise to precisely nobody who has ever met me. Tonight, in the midst of a bubble of sadness, I bought a glittery bra and matching underwear. It cheered me up immensely. I don't even think it was the act of buying - it was the thought of coming home and setting out my sparkly things on my desk, taking photos of it all and blogging about it. Then changing into said sparkles and prancing about my room while Mermaids plays in the background. Who ever said my Friday nights are dull?

Loving something as typically 'girly' as sparkles is pretty unusual for me. I'm really not a "girly girl". When I was about sixteen or seventeen I went through a phase where I refused to associate myself with the colour pink. Why? I figured out it was because typically feminine and I hated the fact that a colour could become so ingrained with a gender. (I had just discovered the world of university-level cultural studies. Forgive me.) Now, why was that ridiculously dumb? Because refusing to associate with pink on that basis only reiterates the stereotype. Think about it: I disliked pink because it meant "girl". I thought that accepting pink as a decent colour would make me horribly girly and feminine. Thus I separated myself from the colour in order to show my lack of girliness. Which only served to reinforce pink as a girly colour. I REFUSED TO ASSOCIATE WITH A COLOUR. WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL IS MY LIFE. Let's be honest now, pink is a lovely colour, especially in the sky! What did pink ever do to me?

I'm over my immature colour-hating. Life's too short for that. I'm not saying I own many pink clothes, but I will paint my fingernails a lovely pastel shade every once in a while. In between excessive shades of glitter, I might add.

What's your sparkly weakness?

currently watching: Mermaids (1990) - favourite cheer-up movie of all time.
currently (re)reading: a hell of a lot of One Direction fanfic.
currently listening to: loving my sad songs playlist at the moment.

sydney royal spending-money-on-junk fest 2k14

Easter in Sydney often means watching busloads of people heading to the Olympic showground and kids hyped up on sugar wearing rainbow wigs and spreading an assortment of junky toys all over the train carriage. It's also that horrid plastic-y smell of Disney showbags filled with pointless shit, all made in China. When I was younger, I lived for the Sydney Royal Easter Show. It was basically the highlight of every kid's year. Every year, in about January, I'd start trolling the Easter show website, particularly the showbag section, planning and plotting my descent into the showbag hall. The idea of all of this junk was so lovely to me, and everyone. It's kind of how you spend a ridiculous amount of money playing the laughing clowns, getting worked up at the mere thought of a giant stuffed bear, and yet once you win one, you get home and realise it's ugly and not at all worth the $60 you spent playing for it. (Not that I've ever actually won one of those giant bears, but damn, I have tried.)

My Easter Show memories are pretty decent. Aside from a few panicky moments when I saw an ambulance in the rides section and immediately imagined someone's head falling off a roller coaster or something (I was a strange child okay), I always had fun. From watching the woodchopping competitions, to roly poly cars (literally amazed my four year old self) and rodeo and fruit/veg displays and snow cones with excessive syrup flavouring to freezing my kneecaps off on the ferris wheel and patting the cute little puppies and carefully calculating my showbag budget (thanks mum) and adding to that my secret coin collection and the man from snowy river show, acted on horseback, and the fireworks, always always always, followed by a noisy ride home in a bus full of people waving around inflatable hammers and checking out their goodies.

The Easter show got old when I was about eleven or twelve. Every year it's the same, minus the ever-growing prices. Somehow, it's just not as fun when you're spending your own money...

This year, my friend revealed that having lived in Sydney for years, she has never been. "What," we said. "What." So a friend and I took her on an Easter show adventure.

We bought Care Bear showbags and I wandered around the place in a purple Care Bears beanie and giant fairy wings, eating rainbow snow cones and sticky fairy floss. Unfortunately on the day I went, the cats had already gone home (boo) but we saw some ridiculously lovely dogs and cute little goats (none of whom, unfortunately, screamed like humans).

Overall, a decent day, and my wallet was not as sure as I expected. I did splurge on a nice pair of ugg boots, but come on, it's cold, they're necessary.

and your car smells like chocolate

I miss being a Sleepy Kat™. I had a nice break from the soul-sucking worlds of Twitter and Instagram and to be honest, I'm quite liking the mental space. I don't miss them as much as I thought I would. (Although I do miss the regular chats with my favourite people.)

I have typed and retyped and untyped this post so many times now. I want to tell you everything, but the shitty part is that I can't. That's what's up. It used to drive me insane how I couldn't always be fully honest on here, but guys, there's a reason for that. Some things should just be kept off the internet. Be careful about what you say, kids. I learned my lesson.

Now that that's out of the way, on to my nonsensical ramblings! You've missed me, haven't you. Don't even deny it. A bunch of photos taken about ten minutes ago. Messy and low quality but perfectly reflective of my life right now. Enjoy and happy Easter!

(1) sparkly slippers (2) dream catcher i made last week (3) nail polish bottles, waiting for me to paint my right hand
(4) ikea haul (5) uni textbooks, patiently waiting for me to love them (6) excessive amount of easter egg wrappers

(7) arty thingo i made last week (8) the best foot cream i have ever used, no seriously (9) london lonely planet guide & a kikki k diary
(10) currently playing the 1975 and one direction on repeat, as always (11) april calendar (12) easter nails and depressingly faded tattoo

wise words.

© Don't Let the Muggles Get You Down - Coffee Mug by 312INK on etsy. (Buy here.)

Words cannot describe how much I appreciate this quote. Don't ever let them get you down. Ever. And just remember, if someone is trying to pull you down, it means they're already beneath you.

I love this blog so much and I'm not going to let the muggles take it from me.

previously tagged: this is cryptic i know i'm sorry i can't say much more


When I was younger I thought that adding the prefix "be" to a word made it the opposite. For example, I figured "befriend" meant becoming someone's enemy. When I was about nine I was discussing this with my father in the car on the way home. He asked me to give him one example of where "be" negates a word.

"Well," I said, because wasn't it obvious? "First you're headed. And then you're beheaded."

He laughed the rest of the way home while I sat in the backseat and questioned my entire life philosophy.

Point is, people can be wrong. I especially can be wrong. I make dumb choices and I'll argue a lost cause and I'll have my tutor look at me pitifully after I've answered a question incorrectly in class. I know this. I know I can be very, very wrong.

And yet when I looked at my work roster for last week and saw I was on for a forty hour week, I thought nothing of it. OOPS. Big mistake. As it turns out, working full time and being a full time student and socialising and trying to get just a little sleep is actually kind of difficult. Twenty-four hours in a day is not enough! Seriously, they should really change that.

Do you remember that cutesy little diagram that used to go floating around tumblr a few years go? The one where there's a triangle and each point of the triangle says "good grades" and "a social life" and "enough sleep"? And the caption reads "pick two"? Yeah. We've all been there, I'm sure of it. Well anyway, I'd like to add a fourth point to this lovely triange and make it a squareish rhombus-y thingo (gr9 at geometry, clearly). And that fourth point is "money". And then I'd like to add a little footnote saying that you can pick two to focus on, and a third to have a little of, which you cannot master unless you are superwoman. Which makes the diagram a little more complicated and a little less cutesy, but oh well. It's more realistic.

I made it through the week, thanks in no small part to the large collection of confectionary that has begun to fester in the cupboard at work. Seriously, that shit is life saving. I wish I could say that I have a week off to sleep, perhaps on a heart-shaped island in the Caribbean, but nope, it's back to uni tomorrow. Still, I had a lovely sleep this afternoon after I trudged home from work with a quickly dying sugar high.

As for my rhombusy squarish diagram? This week I managed money and social life with a teeny tiny bit of sleep. I don't want to do that to my grades ever again.

Goodnight, kids. My bed is calling me. I don't want to neglect it for another second. xoxox

PS - we have all been here too, haven't we?

(Hipstery night sky photo has been on my computer for ages. I'd love to give proper credit for it but don't know who to. There's a high chance it's one of those default Mac desktops but I'm not totally sure.)