Love Letters: Dear Mascara

Dear Mascara, 

I’m just going to come out and say it; I love you! I love you with all my heart. I love you more than I love all the other cosmetic products combined. I love you more than a fat kid loves cake. I just can’t even begin to imagine my life without you. 

Mascara, you’re the most undervalued cosmetic product in existence. When I wake up in the morning I stumble to the bathroom and catch a glimpse of my scary morning self in the mirror. I have puffy eyes, a swollen nose and cheeks (the Gods didn’t impart a friendly sinus on me) and hair so big and out of control I fear it will jump off my head and attack the empire. Needless to say, my reflection is enough to jolt me awake in the morning. 
I find myself asking the mirror, “Who is this monster girl and what have you done to Tijana?” Thankfully, my reflection can’t talk otherwise it would shout things like “You were supposed to get up an hour ago”, “Well you’re definitely not going to have enough time to go for a run now“, “Maybe you shouldn’t have had that third glass of wine last night hmmmm?”
Evidently, my reflection is super condescending and extremely bitchy in the morning. 

So every morning I go through the same process of mild self hatred followed by regretting last nights activities followed by a mad rush to have breakfast, jump into the shower and make myself look somewhat human for the day. All whilst making a conscious decision to go to bed earlier and wake up earlier from now on; so I can both go for a run and not look like a bona fide member of the Adams family every morning. 

Now see, Mascara, this is where you come in. I don’t usually wear a lot of make-up (because (a) I never have any time and (b) I have no idea what I’m doing) but I’ll usually splash on a little tinted moisturizer and on the odd day wear a little eyeliner. However, the best part of my whole makeup process is that I save you for last. I see you looking at me from your dedicated ‘mascara draw’  just waiting to be of service to me. I do everything else and think “Yeah, this looks nice, people will recognize me as a human today” and then I put you on and it’s like “I’M A MODEL!”

Yes, that is the effect you have on my appearance and self confidence. Do you now understand why I love you? You’re my secret weapon in life. I have vowed that on the days when I can’t even muster the energy to run a comb through my hair, I will always wear you.

My personal weapon of choice…at least until a better one comes along.

I won the genetic lottery when I didn’t get either of my parents short stumpy lashes. By some miracle of the Gods (maybe as payment for the uncontrollable sinus) I was given flared lashes of a respectable length. However they are very fair at the ends, so when I cover them with your beautiful black coat they get impossibly long and thick and make me convince myself that there is an eyelash modeling profession and I should be in it. My heart skips a beat every time someone asks me “Wow, are you wearing fake lashes?” I know it’s you that’s getting the compliment and not me, but that doesn’t stop me from blushing and turning into a giggly 5-year-old. 

But it’s not all rainbows and butterflies Mascara, sometimes you do annoy me. Especially if I’m wearing you and it’s raining. Or I’m crying. Then Mascara you make me look like a hooker stuck in the rain. Now, like anyone else I’m prone to a good tear session. I mainly cry when I remember that Ryan Gosling and I aren’t *actually* dating, or when I watch a Disney/Pixar movie or when I see puppies in all their cuteness and one falls asleep on the other and it all gets too much for me. But thankfully Mascara, you’re a true friend so you come in waterproof too. You’re just so considerate Mascara. If only some boys could take a leaf out of your book. 

At the end of the day Mascara, I don’t like to think of myself as a shallow person and I’d like to believe that people value me for what’s inside as apposed to the length of my lashes. And by the same token, I value people for who they are as apposed to the lengths of their lashes.
I shouldn’t be looking to my appearance for validation and should find self confidence just from being me (which I do). But all things considered Mascara, you do make be feel good about myself. You make me more confident and considerably less scared to look into the mirror. So for that, I’m not making any apologies. I want to thank you for your contribution in making me look like a human being every morning and for all the fun times we’ve had. You rock my world Mascara, you really do.

Your greatest fan, 


Love Letters: Dear Sugar

Dear Sugar,

I don’t know how to say this, so I’m going to just come out and say it. We’re breaking up. Or at least changing our facebook relationship to ‘it’s complicated’.
It’s not me, it’s you.

Sugar you’ve been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. You make icecream taste like heaven. And cookies extra delicious. You make coffee taste more tolerable. And the thought of breakfast cereals worth getting up for. Every time I put cake in my mouth, you’re the first thing I taste. In all your mouthwatering scrumptious glory. Let’s not even talk about doughnuts.

Sugar, you’re just everywhere I look. It’s almost like you’re stalking me. You’re in all my favorite foods. And most foods that aren’t my favourite, but I tolerate. It’s impressive. You know how Ryan Gosling is God’s gift to women? We’re you’re God’s gift to food. Even when something doesn’t taste sweet, BAM! You’re in it. You’re a ninja. The master of disguise. Pizza isn’t sweet. But you still hang out there. You’re in the tomato sauce.  Some of the toppings. And in the cheese. THE CHEESE. Sugar, you selfish bastard. You have no business being in the cheese!

But I get it. You’re an overachiever. Maybe your friends weren’t nice to you in high-school so you’ve decided to overachieve and show them up. Or maybe you had daddy issues. But it’s clear you just want to be a part of everything. You attention seeker, you! Sugar, you make yourself so addictive that everyone just keeps coming back for more. You’re an evil genius. You could take Victor Von Doom on and win.
You’re evil because of what you do to me. You make it impossible for me to eat one piece of cake. I have to eat three. Then when they’ve settled. Eat another three. You make is impossible for me not to think about chocolate. You coerce and harass me till I eat you. The rush is wonderful. A feeling of fun and energy runs to my extremities. But then, just as quickly, the abuse starts. You make me sad. Fat. And tired. Yet, I don’t stop thinking about you. Only you can make me feel better. So I keep coming back.

These are the thoughts of a woman in a destructive relationship. These are the thoughts of a woman who wants to quit you, but can’t. This is why we have to break up. At least for a little while. I’ll be back. I always come back. But just for a little while, I need to know that I dominate you and not the other way round.

This means you stay the hell out of my food, unless you’re in fruit. Fruit comes with fiber and nutrients. Fruit isn’t empty. Fruit has a soul (unlike you). Sugar, you’re not allowed to show up at work. You can’t send me flowers. Don’t crash my dinner parties. And don’t try to play games and get inside my head. It’s just not nice.

It’s not going to be an easy road though. You’ve infiltrated my two favorite things. Chocolate and wine. I’m going to find chocolate without you. Surely it’s gotta exist. And we all know wine is just you. And some grapes. But I’ll find a way. Ohhh you’re in mayonnaise, too, aren’t you? You sneaky, sneaky jerk.

Now don’t think you can fool me into eating you. I know how to read. I know all your nicknames. Brown rice syrup, glucose, dextrose, malt syrup, and your evil minion high fructose corn syrup. And your fake friends? They’re out too. They make me feel just as bad. For the next 10 days, I denounce your power over me. After that, we can talk about our relationship status again. Because at the end of the day,  I do love you, sugar.

I love you like a fat kid loves cake.


Your greatest fan.

Love Letters: Dear Ryan Gosling

Disclaimer: This post is entirely a joke. Unless Ryan Gosling is actually reading this. Then it’s not.

My dearest darling Ryan,

You complete me.

Thinking about you sends me in such a tail spin that I quote corny 90’s movies. That I don’t even like. Do you remember when Tom Cruise tells Renee Zellweger that she completes him? And then Renee tells Tom to ‘shut up, shut up because he had her at hello?’ Well that’s how I feel about you Ryan. And in my head, it’s us having that conversation. And then we kiss. And then we kiss a little more. And then we live happily ever after. It’s such a beautiful moment Ryan. I re-live it in my mind on a daily basis.
To be fair though, I sometimes change some of the details in our scene. I mean, sometimes you get on one knee and propose straight away. Other times we go outside and kiss in the rain. And then you propose. Sometimes you don’t wear a shirt. Actually, you very rarely wear a shirt. So you just propose shirtless. I’m okay with that. We run away into the sunset. Me, blissfully happy. You, shirtless and blissfully happy. It brings a tear to my eye.

I’m not sure if you’ve noticed Ryan, but we’ve been in a relationship for a while now. It’s been glorious. Admittedly, we’ve been keeping this a secret from our respective partners. And it may also seem like I’ve been keeping it a secret from you. This is not something I would normally ever condone, but a love like ours Ryan, it just can’t be stopped. It knows no limits. It’s centrifugal motion. It’s perpetual bliss. I may have stolen some of those lines from corny 90’s songs, but my dearest Ryan, you know I speak them from the heart.

You’re just everything a woman could ever want in life. You’re incredibly attractive. But I don’t feel like you know it. You just own it.  You’re confident, charming and sexy. Basically, ‘man candy’ personified. Perfection wrapped in candy, wrapped in perfection. You make me lose my mind just thinking about you. In all your shirtless glory. Also, you have an impeccable dress sense. And you always wear nice shoes. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. But most of all Ryan, you’re ‘ab-y’. It’s a word I’ve created in your honor. It just means your abs have abs. And they’re beautiful.

Also, you’re intelligent. You get it. And you get women. You only ever have nice things to say about them. And you’re close to your mother. I’m melting here Ryan.
No doubt, the smart and sensitive soul you are, you know all about Greek Mythology. So I don’t need to tell you that humans were originally created with 4 arms, 4 legs and a head with two faces. Then fearing their power, Zeus split them into 2, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves. Well I’ve found my other half Ryan. And it’s you. When you propose to me (whilst being shirtless, and just before we ride off into the sunset) you tell me that I’m your other half too. I feel like I forgot to mention that earlier. But I so appreciate you saying it. It’s just so lovely.

On top of everything else, you’re also an amazing actor. I go to see movies purely because you’re in them, but you’re so brilliant that I even enjoy them. Lars and the real girl? Only you can make such a creepy character so lovable and make me reflect on the deeper issues society has in regards to how we treat people with disabilities. The Notebook? Just a beautiful portrayal of a beautiful character. And you proved you can grow a fabulously irresistible beard.  Drive? The art-house cinematography mixed with the intelligent script and characters was divine. And my God, you’re even attractive whilst bashing people’s heads in. How is that even possible!?  Ides of March? You’re idealistic and smart. And you’re not scared to make a political movie and stand up and make a statement. Crazy Stupid Love? Don’t even get me stated. I may faint.

My idea of you and the love we share will follow me for the rest of my life and make everyone else seem inadequate. You’ve set the bar too high Ryan. So seeing as no one else will do, it’ll have to be you. I’ll be waiting.

We’re meant to be Ry. Zeus set it all up for us.

Your future wife


I can’t breathe.