The last few days have been eventful to say the least.
On Friday I called Scouse, explaining that I have suitably lost the plot thinking far too much about what I can’t change in 18 months time. My 30th – the BIG 3.0, the age where I look back on my 20s and either decide whether or not I made the most of that particular chunk of my life. (This was no surprise to Scouse, our brains work in extremely similar ways.)
On mentioning that by planning to live my life solely via the advice given by Marie Claire, to see if this will bring my life inline with the perfect ideas within it’s pages she was not phased. This then turned to delight when I mentioned that one of the first things I had to do in July was go for a colonic and if she came I could get a deal on 2. In her own wonderful Scouse dialect, she though this was “Boss!”
On Friday, my cousin, “Evil Jody”, (nicknamed so by my friends as we are very similar, but she’s just that little bit darker) came round to watch a film and eat copious amounts of cheap pizza with me. I spent the first half of the film entering all the competitions on the Marie Claire website to ensure I didn’t miss the closing dates. So that is one job out of the way.
The morning after Husband and I needed to go into Manchester to pick up our new mountain bikes. While we were in town I figured I’d pick up some of the stuff on the July list. I went to Boots and managed to get the Garnier Body scrub half price, so this brightened my day. Along with this I bought the foot buffer, foot soak, body oil and some spray Tan in a can.. Using my Boots points to pay off some of the bill the whole lot came to £22 which was a nice surprise.
Husband was Djing Saturday night, and as I’ve embarked on a major junk food binge pending the colonic and green soup diet, I was feeling a bit swollen all over. So I thought I’d use some of these lovely products to help myself feel better. I got as far as the scrub then ran out of time (or got board), but it illustrated that this whole looking amazing lark is going to take a lot of time and effort. I think I need to devise a daily list so I can tick things off.
The night out was great, and I was chatted up by a teenager, who’s opening line was a slurred “I’d like to drag you around by your plats” . Apparently this is as smooth as the kids get these days. But although there was slightly more effort than normal in my appearance by means of a bit of exfoliation, I didn’t stalk into the club gazelle like, smelling and looking glorious. In fact, I spent the first half of the night paranoid that one of the cats had pissed on my dress, then the second half of the night pissed, randomly asking my friends if I smelled of cat piss. This, I have now realised, would never increase my attractiveness. I wonder if there is a formula equating the depreciating level of attractiveness to the increase in alcohol consumption?
A few of us came back to my house to chill after the club, and at 5am we called it a night and went to sleep. At 8 this morning I started to stir, hearing shouting and punching sounds, confused not realising where they were coming from. As my brain engaged, I realised these sounds were coming from my front garden. I leapt out of bed, pulled on a hoody and flung open the curtains. Standing in my garden was a young lad.
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY GARDEN” was all I could shout in my slightly bewildered state,. The poor guy looked up and told me that he’d been jumped by a gang of lads who had caught up with him in my Garden as he’d tried to leg it. He was my next door but one neighbour.
I ran down stairs, wild perm everywhere (the perm and how it came about is a whole new blog, one that will hopefully warn others off EVER making spontaneous decisions in a hair salon and completely ignoring ones hair dresser when she consistently chants “you’ll hate this” with each roller) , zits having a little party on my forehead, hoodie and Husbands jeans. My eyes were black from where I’d not got my makeup off properly and my breath could kill an elephant at 1000 paces.
When I got to the front door, a few more neighbours had congregated outside. This was the first time I had met them all, this was my first impression. I tried to get the guy to come in for a brew, but I looked more like I’d been beaten up than he did and he declined.
And this brings me to now. I’m sat here eating crisps and chocolate again, watching Vampire films, looking like a fat vampire myself. So tonight I think I’ll have a go at fake tanning. The last time I attempted this, I looked like an umpa lumpa on growth hormones, so hopefully this new tan in a can stuff will merely take my skin from the blue grey it is today, to a bronzed vision that will not have my new neighbours wondering what sort of tramps have recently moved onto their road.
Ooh and before I sign off, I just wanted to say a quick hello and thanks to my first and only follower so far. You’ve just made this all a bit real!
