When you're bored, dunk your head in peroxide!

Yes. We dyed our hair. It's something we do when we are bored, you know. Some people watch tv, go to the gym, meet-up for a coffee with their friends and stuff like that but that's for sissies. The ultimate executor of boredom is changing the colour of your hair. True story.

We both dyed our hair for the second time in our lives. (The first time we did it was in a second year of high-school, when we were, oh what a surprise! bored. Back then, we chose to do that with a professional. It was horrible. We paid 80 euros for two crappy haircuts. And I swore that never ever in my life will I dye my hair again.) How very wrong was I.

The reason why we did it was actually a bet, which Rapunzel had lost and therefore had to dye herself blonde. And because I am a terrific friend I joined her in the action. But the change I made was much more subtle. My natural hair colour is dark brown and now it's just a bit darker. But I like it though. My skin tone is quite pale so now a contrast with my hair is more obvious and it's quite nice. I can actually look like a Snow-White on drugs, because I have under-eye circles. Very pretty.

I, Rapunzel, went a bit further with the whole hair-dying business: I am now a blonde, although it is not as drastic as it looks from these photos. We were a bit afraid what would happen; you never know whether you’ll end up green, orange or blonde when you DIY with peroxide. But it turned out quite fine, and it looks interesting with my dark eyebrows. Also, I have the awesomest silver sweater for which I paid a daily wage. But it was absolutely worth it!

And now, both looking splendid, edgy and a bit cartooney we are heading  on our magic carpet towards the indie capital of Europe. Berlin, my friends!
Stay tuned.

Oh we so bad at this!

Writing blog, of course.

In our defence...We were extremely busy finishing high-school, having our finals and boring stuff like that. May and June were therefore spent in library where we were pitying our tragical destiny, because we had to study stuff like ''The main modern language reference books and modern linguistic norm in Slovene language'' and such, instead of playing ukulele and taking photos with Diana Mini. Ahhh. Life is tough.

But anyways, now everything is over and we are on holidays! 

So here's a little bit of music for these lazy days when doing nothing at all. Quite a while ago I discovered this great French fashion label and also electronic music record label Kitsuné. I don't like their collections very much (too preppy and boring and not enough quirky for my taste) but I am very much into their music! Their compilations skew heavily toward the indie dance spectrum, which is kind of awesome. My goal is to have all Kitsune compilations in my possession someday. So far, I only have two (no.9 and no.11. Oh, gee 9/11. Wasn't on purpose, I swear) so feel free to buy me the rest of them. But anyway. Peace out folks, Pie is out. Heeere's the music:

 

The manifesto of me (Rapunzel) being 18

Happy Birthday, dear me!

I have finally reached the age of 18, the age in which almost everything becomes legal. I am now a full-fledged member of the society, I can vote, drink, have sex with old men and drive a car.

On the morning of 22nd of March the first thing I did was put my fake ID (or, rather, the ID of my friend which is not even my friend anymore but she gave me her student ID) in a memory box. A memory box is an old box in which my grandfather bought Yugoslavian candies. It's very retro and smells like surf wax (probably because I keep a piece of surf wax in it to remind me of the days spent surfing in the sun on sandy beaches okay back to our topic).

Two days later I bought my first legal Jägermeister (quite disgusting dark brown strong herbal alcohol mixture but tastes okay with ice tea) and the lady at the cashier didn't even ask how old I was, although they always asked that before, when I was nervously trying to look as old as possible (which meant studying different kinds of bubble gum or indifferently chatting with a friend). Later that evening we went out, me and my two friends, to the indiest club in our town, and it was time to show my real ID for the first time. of course, the security guard didn't believe that it was really me on the photo, because I look like an ugly homeless 13-year-old girl with spanish origins.

In front of that entrance I realized that going out lost a bit of its excitement now that I am actually allowed inside clubs. I felt so cool before, when I was seventeen and probably the youngest person in most of the places we went to.

being 18, however, has its benefits too, and its not just buying addictive substances. you can, for example, sign your own permission to attend a contest in Physics. not like that helps me in any way, but still.

As my mom said when she congratulated me: This is it.

It is an end of an era. And even though I was the last to go, since I'm the youngest in my group of friends, I will miss being under-age and all the jokes and the problems that went with that.