Tuesday, 29 September 2009
I’m a lucky woman.
I’m a lucky woman because I cook about 4 times a month – and one of those times is fish fingers or pizza, and husband cooks the rest. It’s an easy deal, he likes cooking – I like eating, he likes me eating his cooking – everyone is a winner!
But in the September issue of Marie Claire, there was a plan for a 3 course dinner. Accompanied by what to wear, listen to and even what candles to burn at said meal.
The editorial was splashed with perfect pictures of wonderfully dressed food, all set off by a happy and serene looking lady called Gizzi Erskine.
It seems that when cooking her 3 course meal, Gizzi doesn’t even break a sweat. Looking at the photographs, she is a domestic goddess and accomplished hostess. That is what I was aiming for, domestic goddess and accomplished hostess, finished off with a little black dress and wonderful, relaxed conversation.
I invited J-Bob and L-Bob round, after J-bob revealed that in our 10 year friendship I had never actually cooked for her. So I figured it was about time! They agreed to come round at 8, which by my calculations gave me an hour and half to get the desert and main ready, cooking the started when they arrived.
I realised on the day that I didn’t have all the ingredients, but it was OK – because being my mother’s daughter I had built in some emergency time. I swung by Tesco on the way home for a quick trolly dash. This left me just enough time when I got in to get in the kitchen and marvel the Bob’s and husband with my inner and suppressed domestic goddess.
As I ran through the door into the living room to dump my bags, one of my cats rushed out under my legs and out of the cat flap. A little dazed by this, I went to pick the bags back up …..and then saw it. A rat. A rat as big as horse, dead on my living room floor. Not on its own either – oh no. Like some twisted romance, Romeo the rat was accompanied by Juliet - the dead mouse. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”
So I had a little sit down, for about 15 minutes while I worked out what to do without Husband here to be heroic and chuck out the “presents” I had been left. Driven by the project, and knowing this was the only night I could cook this meal for the Bob’s I mustered up some courage to wrap plastic bags on my hands and dispose of the evidence.
Then on to the cooking. First thing first – A large glass of wine.
I then proceeded to cover the kitchen and unwittingly my boobs in chocolate, whilst I created a Rosemary scented caramel and chocolate tart – oh yes, Nigella would have been proud.
Then on to the main, lemon and sage butter chicken kievs from scratch with spaghetti and sauce. After a good fight with the chicken it started to conform to something that looked vaguely like the picture. I lost my rag at one point and beat up the breast with a rolling pin, then regained my composure and managed to create some sort of kiev like parcels.
By the time it came to making the starter, I was covered in food, bright red, a bit pissed and very manic. J-Bob couldn’t take it any longer, being the head of a catering GCSE, watching me run round the kitchen like a rabid housewife was too much and she took over, allowing me to go and slip into my little black dress.
An hour after I said the food would be ready, it was served. The starter, (Scallops on cauliflower pure with an orange and saffron butter) was DELICIOUS. The main was yum and the chocolate cake – Oh my goodness, I wanted to climb into it and roll around in it.
J-Bob was very proud of me, apparently for someone that doesn’t cook – to cook a 3 course meal after work is a big deal and I did Ok, even if I had slightly lost the plot by the time I had reached the starter.
But unfortunately I was not the image of composure and a domestic goddess as I had hoped. More a slightly pink, pissed mad woman but luckily J-bob and L-bob wouldn’t expect it any other way.
Originally uploaded by mariecandme
Parisian Chic meets hip-hop with cornrows....
Well - I can't do cornrows so I had to settle for a french plait. I'm sure Lacroix would bury me under his cat walk rather than send me down it - but I quite like the way it looks, so have done my hair like this agian since.
Saturday, 26 September 2009
I’m hung over and grumpy. My mum is stripping the paper in the hallway and I’ve slipped into petulant child mode, I have announced that all I am capable of today is making the tea and project managing from the couch. Husband has put on some 40’s music for her and all I can hear is intermittent warbling to Bing Crosby and scraping.
When I finally rose from my pit today, I decided to dedicate the day to my blog and catch up on some of the things I’m yet to do. One of them is to put foundation on my lips pre lipstick, then with a lip brush apply some neon bright colour. So the hooker lipstick from July was resurrected.
I can’t be bothered to get dressed though, or brush my hair. I just about managed a shower and to plaster on the vile lippy – and that’s it. When I skulked down the stairs, my mum looked up to say hello.. and then I saw it.
My mum looks like butter wouldn’t melt. She’s 5 foot 2 at a whisker, with big brown eyes like Moley out of Wind in the Willows and a silly, stupid grin after just half a gin. But underneath it all, she’s a finely tuned machine of strong (and heroically organised) womanhood.
When she doesn’t like something, her head cocks to one side, eyes open a bit wider, lips slightly purse and then it comes - the ultimate sign… the sign that she can neither hide nor deny to those that know her inside out … The nostril flare.
When the nostrils flare, you have lost before you have begun. Whatever the nostrils are flaring at, are firmly and permanently placed into her “I don’t like it, I never will and there is nothing you can do or say that will change my mind …. But I don’t want to say anything about it because I may upset you” category.
The pink lips most DEFINITELY fall into this category. As I walked down the stairs the nostrils flared that wide I half expected a little flame and a puff of smoke to follow.
“I know I know mum – it’s a Marie Claire thing”
“OOoh I’m not keen”
“Sigh – neither am I mum, that’s why I’m doing it on a day when I don’t have to leave the house”
“Good, because it’s horrible.”
Maybe Marie Claire’s beauty editor could fight the hooker lipstick’s corner with my mum, that would be a death match worth watching.
Being a slave to the cause, I thought I would road test the staying power of the lippy, atop foundation– by eating a bacon sarnie and then giving husband a smooch.
It faded pretty quick to be honest, which I was thankful for as now my mum can get on with the paper stripping without her dilated nostrils getting in her way.
Last night was Evil J’s birthday, she’s a ripe old 22 – but give her a few Vodka Cranberries and a rave whistle and she’s no more mature than ever, just how we like her. I went out in the limited edition FCUK bright pink fashion week dress I bought last week. Marieclaire.co.uk flagged this up the week before, letting readers know that they would be on sale from a week last Monday and when they were gone they were gone. The best thing about this dress – well in other colours it’s £110 - in the 1000 available limited edition pink ones… £25 smackers.. bargain!
I wore that, and then rocked it up with some more studded “fierce” footwear I bought yesterday so that I didn’t look like I was going to a wedding. I’m currently trying to flog the snakeskin shoobs to pay for these ones from Office instead because I can’t afford both!
I’m as flat as a pancake on top though, with a fair bit of back fat – so getting into the dress required husband craftily redistributing fat so the zip would go up, but I still had that little hangey over armpit thing going on which was unfortunate! I figured if I walked around with one hand on my hip all night, that would solve the problem, or I could just get extremely drunk so I didn’t care anymore.
Once at the Warehouse Project I felt good. My shoes were the perfect height for dancing in and attracted some nice comments off a few friends. I did feel slightly overdressed, but I had lost the pink tights that I had planned to wear for this night out (not on their own obviously but with some shorts and a top)– and this was the only other Marie Claire dictated fashion item I could quickly muster together.
But then I saw it. I logged on to tilllate.com this morning and saw the picture. I thought I looked good, I felt good even. Husband was more territorial than normal, just stopping short of peeing up my leg to mark what was his – but the picture tells a different story. Turbo arm and boobless and pale, I think the sunbed shop is calling me!
Thursday, 24 September 2009
Originally uploaded by mariecandme
Yesterday Crispy, Milnoids and I decided to road test the new Champagne bar Epernay in Manchester. I thought that this would be the perfect time to give my mega Shoobs their maiden voyage, mainly because there would be lots of sitting down involved.
Milnoids had to help me into the shoes, which once on my feet made me about 5 inches taller. I’m already 5 foot 7, so even standing still I felt I stuck out a bit. But this was the least of my worries, because when it came to putting one foot in front of the other, I felt like Bambi, on ice, after he’d been shot.
Milnoids helped me out of work, then nipped off to the shop while I negotiated the 20 meters to Wagamamas. I had that tingly warm feeling behind my face, scared to look at anyone in the eye in case they had a look of “shit, that girl can’t walk in those heels” written on their mush.
Wagamamas is completely glass fronted, so I had to negotiate the length of the whole restaurant before I even got in. I caught my reflection in the glass and was horrified at the things that were my legs, the things I used to know how to move. They were now two robotic stilts that were trying in vein to get me to my Yasai Gyoza.
Once we had eaten, I negotiated a slightly longer journey with Milnoids by my side offering the sort of encouragement you give to someone that is recovering from an accident, rather than wearing some impossibly high shoobs. We made it into the bar and I plonked myself down, more than ready for my first cocktail.
Now, in one of the earlier issues of Marie Claire I was following – I was urged to join the Marie Claire Diet club for a free week. Some members on the forum there recommended Glenn Harrold Hypnotherapy CDs over Paul Mckenna for weight loss.
I downloaded Glenn Harrold the night before my shoob outing and definitely noticed a reduction in my apatite in the day time. So, it occurred to me as I was drinking my first cocktail – I may not have eaten enough to line my stomach for a night on the Champers.
Crispy turned up to play catch up, and we moved on to our second drink, which, without beating around the bush – tipped me over into the realms of pissed relatively early on in the drinking session.
By the third drink, I was slurring my words and hatching plans with Milnoids to become either a dominatrix madam or own a “special” sauna as both had win win business models. I managed to get to the loo once on my own, but the second time I needed a helping hand in my stilts o get half way there.
By the end of the night, I was clinging to Crispy trying to negotiate the stairs down to the street. I was put in a taxi, where I asked the driver to stop at a cash point on the way home. I managed to stumble out of said taxi in the stilts, attracting more than one comment from surrounding piss heads. It’s a sorry state of affairs when your footwear make you move in ways that even winos are offering you kind words of wisdom.
Once in the sanctuary of my own home, I saw my dinner again and fell asleep with my headphones in listening to Glenn telling me to “relax”. I woke up in the middle of the night a bit dazed and confused, hearing voices I sat upright in my bed. I couldn’t work out where they were coming from and started to worry that there were people singing in my garden. As I started to get out of bed, my I-pod fell on the floor and I realised I was, as usual – an idiot. A drunken, immobile idiot with fantastic shoes.
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Originally uploaded by mariecandme
I was rocking the blue mascara today - I've had a few comments over the month that this looks good. I really like it, it reminds me of playing with my mum's make up as a kid. I'm really tired again today and wearing my jumper dress, that throughout the day loses it's shape and becomes a jumper sack (going to have to get the Stylist to customise it for me.) Experimenting with all these different things is slowly beginning to help me realise what does and doesn't look good on me. Blue Mascara does, potato sack dress doesn't. Tailored clothing does, hooker pink lippy doesn't. I'm hoping by the end of this I will have emerged with some sort of personal style!
Monday, 21 September 2009
Sorry for the short posts today - I'm still feeling fragile. In fact, fragile has moved on to grotty. I need sleep otherwise I'm going to get emotional! Speaking of emotional I joined the debate last week about crying at work published in the September issue and my post is up on the Marie Claire website. Glad it's not just me that blubs at work now and again, there is massive whole 3 of us. Maybe we can form a support group?
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Is there anyone out there?
Its fear and loathing in Reddish today. Yesterday was Betty and the Ranger’s wedding and everything seems a little bit blurred.
In fact – it’s just taken me 15 minutes to write the above sentence!
The wedding was amazing, Betty looked beautiful and the booze was flowing, everything was going so well. So well in fact that I seem to have succumbed to my usual drunken trick of over sharing and was talking about the Marie Claire sex tips with some fellow guests. I arrived home today with a Viagra in my purse and an order for porn from one of the guests that works in a sex shop. These things always seem like a great idea to gob off about at the time!
I tried to go to bed at 3, but between Fergatron, Dog boy and Clunk it felt like I was sleeping in the same room as Darth Vadar, a baby rhino and randomly, dog boy actually manages to sound like a submarine when he snores. By 10am this morning I had lost the plot, sat upright, wired laughing manically with medusa hair. I was in a dark place – I’m not sure how I managed to drive home!
Anyway I thought I would post some pictures today, and easy blog entry that my fragile mind can cope with. I wore shimmer for a day the other day and it looked nice, if a little teenage. It reminded me of when I used to go out and try and buy booze as a kid armed only with a “Very Berry” lipstick (The staple colour of any Stockport teen) and some Barry M shimmer eye shadow – as if this was the key to bamboozle the shop assistant to think I was older than I was. The fact I was trying to buy 2 litre bottle of Lambrini kind of gave the game away anyway.
So here it is - shimmer for a day, probably a good look after a heavy night as the light reflecting off your face will dazzle onlookers and distract them from the goblin beneath.
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
Originally uploaded by mariecandme
The only problen with the Flick (See below post) is that when you forget (Daily) that you are wearing said flick.. it usually becomes the "Smudge" by 4pm after a day of stress and face rubbing. It's not a work safe look!
Originally uploaded by mariecandme
I’ve been following the instructions this month to create the perfect flick with eyeliner. Apparently it’s all about the flick on the old eyelids this season. Classic 40’s glamour that seems to have stayed trendy forever. I really like liquid eyeliner on eyes, it’s simple and makes your eyes look bigger.
When I was a kid (and a bit of a goth/skater/I just want to wear stuff that will piss off adults) I used to be able to do this perfectly, in the car on the way to school, with my left hand. I was always very proud of this skill, this and the fact that I can do a great impression of a pigeon!
As you can see in the picture – I’ve got a bit shaky in my old age. Even following the tip of drawing on the line in pencil first I’ve not achieved the airbrushed perfection in the picture. But its not a bad effort!
Over the past 2 weeks, husband has been working his way through Levi Roots’ cook book. What Marie Claire is asking me NOT to eat so far is: An amazing goat curry, a Jamaican rum and ginger cake with lime drizzle and today, he has just presented me with a home made beef patty. OH MY LORD. I had half in attempt to “Not eat his food”.
I asked husband if he would possibly refrain from at least baking this month as I have no will power. This was met with a flat “No” as his theory is… it’s my problem not his and no man / woman / silly magazine project will keep him from creating his delights.
So as for not eating his food – this is near on impossible. Especially as he has made me a patty for my lunch tomorrow. I think he’d rather me be a few pounds heavier than refuse his culinary creations. He gets pleasure out of cooking for people and seeing people enjoy his food - if I sit there inhaling a lettuce leaf instead of eating what he’s put so much effort onto, it wouldn’t matter how much my body was a temple – all he would see was an ungrateful vacuous oxygen thief.
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
Sunday, 6 September 2009
This weekend was Ace, The Lady and The Dancing Queen had organised a fantastic hen do for Betty down in London.
When I was packing my bag to go, I was rifling through my clothes trying to work out what would work all day and night and also look good in London. London, where buttoning your shirt up right to the top, not brushing your floppy hair and growing a new wave handle bar moustache is perfectly acceptable – and that’s just the women (Boom Tschhh!)
So I went for the “When in Rome” shorts, boots and blazer from the August issue. The day started off OK. Well - as ok as it could - I stayed and Bendy’s flat (Bendy is a Mr and Mrs that have defected from the Northern massive down to the big smoke). I got up, did my hair then discreetly asked Girl Bendy if my tash needed tending to. Being the naughty little nymph that she is….. she none discreetly called Boy Bendy over and asked his opinion. Which he summed up very succinctly as “Alright Adolf”.
I took this as a firm yes and was shamed within 10 minutes of getting out of bed!
The hen party started with lunch around at The Dancing Qeen’s flat, with champagne. Then we went off to see Chicago in the West End, breaking for gin and vodka. This was followed by the London Eye where we had a champagne reception in one of the pods which was ace.
After the eye we all went back to the Lady’s for a disco themed party with cocktails, more food and more booze.
The booze was really starting to kick in, when Girl Bendy and I decided we wanted to get more in the spirit of things and have some Disco themed glitter makeup. Being part of a sensible and mature group of friends, this got slightly out of hand when the Lady’s sister decided a green glitter tash and beard was just what Bendy needed. Opening this can of worms resulted in us all ending up with green glittery pictures of knobs, boobs and tashes all over our faces – and it wasn’t even 10pm.
So dear readers, this kind of ruined the outfit. I tried, I really did. But I make what should be a very stylish outfit look butch. I think I’m beginning to realise that whole size 0 debate now. Walking coat hangers make anything look good apart from their mental health. Is it a choice? Look great in clothes and pictures but completely out of my depth eating a meal with friends having a laugh and a drink?
Lets face it, I’m in no position to speculate about anyone’s mental health when I freely spent 6 hours of my life last night with a spunking green glitter knob on my forehead!
The car park is a bit creepy and there have been a few break-ins already, as a result I have decided to park my car even further away from work at some flats on the outskirts. This is forcing me to walk an extra 20 minutes everyday that I wouldn’t normally walk. So this is a tick on the old increasing the incidental exercise box along with ditching the lift. Not that it is making much difference as I am increasingly despairing at how out of shape I am starting to look.
I can’t fake tan, because I’m still waiting for the laser treatment from the July list. So far my last 3 appointments have had to be moved for one reason or another, and in this time my skin has turned from white to blue. You can’t have any pigment in your skin when you have laser hair removal as it attracts the laser – but I’m starting to look dead rather than just ill.
My spots are getting worse, even though I’m trying to eat better. It could be because, anytime I catch my pizza face in a mirror, I get drawn in like a zombie, pinching and squeezing my face until I finally decide I’ve done enough damage for one session.
My belly seems to have taken on a life of it’s own. My weight was going in the right direction until it revolted. Sending messages to my brain to ignore Paul McKenna and literally EAT ALL THE CAKE. It doesn’t help that husband is working his way through Levi Root’s cook book and I’ve entered into a world where everything in our house is now cooked with buckets of rum and coconut milk!
Anyhow, I’m digressing from the actual point of this post. On Thursday, I was walking from work to my car. It was about to rain so I thought I would play the catch someone 100 meters in front game (from the August issue). Squinting to see who to catch, I spied my target. A girl in a bright pink coat so I couldn’t lose her.
I started picking up my pace, trying not to look like I was power walking – totally focussing on the pink coat in the distance. But it didn’t seem to be enough to gain on her. So I picked it up even more. Now it’s no shock to 90% of people, that I do no exercise. So even this was a bit of a strain on my old legs, when I got to about 20 meters behind, my legs were aching and my face had begun to twist into a snarley frown.
I still couldn’t catch her – so I pushed again. I managed get beside her, “yes” I thought – “done it”… But then I realised that I couldn’t just continue to walk beside her along the road. That would make me a random weirdo that’s chasing her… which is exactly what I didn’t want her to know.
I couldn’t fall behind her, because she had noticed me beside her, but the bitch was just so fast. Trust me to pick someone that walked like bloody Roadrunner! So I gave it one final push. It felt like chariots of fire, I was powering down the road now, arms swinging, legs stomping.. on the cusp of a jog. I could feel my heart beating so I knew it was doing something. But I was really happy with myself, I had, for once, pushed myself in exercise (rather than my usual stroll on a running machine whilst watching the TV once every 3 years).
About three minutes later I heard a rustle from behind. To my absolute horror, the Roadrunner had noticed that I was racing her…. And decided to join in!!???!! With what looked like ease, she powered on past me, face forward not looking me in the eye to seal the deal. I couldn’t believe it! Open mouthed I started doing the half walk half jog thing mum’s do when they go to catch the bus. But the bitch just kept powering on forward.
“Right” I thought, time for drastic action. I crossed the road so I could walk parallel to her… and broke into a jog. She had her hood up now, so couldn’t see me from the side. I thought I’d mouth “Fucking bitch” in her direction – just to add to the competitive spirit!
Even with me doing my skippy jog walk, Roadrunner was (with many shopping bags may I add at this point) just breezing forward as if it was natural to walk that fast. She was bloody Olympic.
Luckily for my ego, and my legs, she then turned down a side road.
It made me realise, along with a few dodgy photos this weekend – that I’m going to struggle to avoid the exercise much longer. I am still a million miles from supermodel still only sitting a few yards away from mess.
Thursday, 3 September 2009
Originally uploaded by mariecandme
Well according to Marie Claire in September - it's all about 80's bubblegum style. This includes wearing bright pink tights under a jumper dress. Luckily I had some vouchers for M&S so trudged through the rain today and cheered myself up with some crazy tights.
I don't know if I have the confidence to carry these off in public, I'm feeling a bit worried just thinking about it. I'm worried that they will attract the wrong sort of comment.. as in "what the fuck are you wearing?" - How many post 21 year olds can carry of Magenta sausage legs without looking like Vicky Pollard?
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
I’ve already written this and got a response! I didn’t win letter of the month though booo!
Enter the Luxury weekend in New York Competitions – Done
Enter the Paul Edmunds Cut and Colour Comp – Done
Enter professional make over comp – Done
Join the “Have you ever cried at work” debate at www.marieclaire.co.uk/officelife.
I’ve had jobs where it seemed that all I did was cry at work! I think I cry generally about having to work rather than about specifics within the work place.
Catch up with Katy Reagan’s dating Blog
Book Club book
Log on to marieclaire.co.uk/travel for “Staycation ideas”
Log on to Kiva.org to discover a more targeted way of giving to charity
This looks great. I have a friend who shall be known only as “Dog Boy” - you know who you are! He has the unenviable job of being a street based fundraiser.. in London. Where people aren’t nice to the people they know and see everyday let alone people or animals they don’t know or can’t wear. Kiva.org seems to appeal to all those people Dog Boy meets in the street that uses the excuse of that they want 100% of their donation going to the charity and not a proportion going on his wages. Next time you get this Dog Boy – make them sign up to Kiva.Org on your I-phone there and then to teach them a lesson!
Log on to www.marieclaire.co.uk/womanheartfilm for free preview tickets for Julie and Julia - this has sold out unless I want to go and see it in Staines… which I don’t! So will have to do this earlier next month.
“Watch this face” – Relating to actress Charlotte Riley, so I need to watch something with her face in it.
Cook Gizzi Erskine’s menu for a dinner party, whilst wearing a little black dress and playing Gizzi’s playlist.
J-bob and L-bob have agreed to by my dinner party guests for this, largely because on one of my many trips to the bob’s for tea a few weeks ago, J-bob highlighted that in the past 10 years – I have never cooked for her, but have regularly been cooked for by her. I feel bad about this and will wow her with my 1950’s style house wiffery skills in the kitchen.
Rich Autumnal shades are SO this season. Look for soft easy-to-wear pieces in satin, velvet or suede.
Justify my Topshop Love
I’m having enough trouble justifying food this month I’m that skint - I need to find a clever way around this!
Get my hands on a “Style-statement” cuff
I have one I bought 11 years ago from the Jewellery design course at my uni. It’s about time this had a revival as its LOVELY.
Slink into Autumn with a fluid, feminine take on the Grecian theme??!!
It may have to by a headdress of Ivy nicked from my mum’s garden looking at my poor bank statement
Studs are everywhere, give an outfit an urban edge with some fierce footwear.
I still need to wear my snake skin shoobs somewhere. I have a hen night coming up at the Lady’s – I think an indoor maiden voyage may be best for these beauties. I need to add some studs to them somehow though – I’ll have to get creative.
French Lady Look: Complete the look with a necklace, some gloves, a belt, courts an elegant bag.
I own all of these – But somehow, wearing a skater belt with some mittens on a string that my mum knitted for me when I was 23 (Yes – that’s right.. 23 – and I have no shame as I love the) will shout more “Escaped” than French lady
Tough Bohemian: Think floaty prints with leather, suede or classic suiting.
Hmm so all this would require is a floaty print dress – I wonder if this could also fulfil the rich autumn shades as per above?
Masculine / Feminine: Apparently there is nothing sexier than a woman dressed in men’s tailoring.
Unless that woman has hips and tits and muffin tops over the men’s tailoring! My shape follows that of a woman – not a prepubescent boy unfortunately, and so I’d be rocking the “Canal Street Chic” look, rather than “model that can wear fucking anything including a bin liner” look
Powerup in the catwalk trend that has A-listers going for bold.
Credit crunch – May have to sew sanitary towel into the shoulders of my new Crombie jacket to achieve this look!
Trends for less:
One of these looks requires just a pair of Pink tights. I think I can live with that!
Touch Enough: Bring some sex to the city with a figure hugging dress, lashings of leather and a serious attitude.
If I could muster a serious attitude, I wouldn’t be sat here writing this blog, publically announcing that I’ve had a colonic, chasing people down the street who are 100 meters in front and spending my summer with a minnow called Flipper!
Read article on how to dress for my shape
Hopefully this cancels out the male tailoring as I don’t look like an ironing board when naked. More a well loved lump of play dough.
See Michelle Obama’s top ten fashion moments at www.marieclaire.co.uk/michelleo
Go go Michelle O!
Michelle Obama’s tips for being universally loved
1. Curb your inner toddler, pass on tips, introduce friends to each other and see your popularity sore.
2. Weave personal anecdotes into your argument. This helps win people over and makes your point without being boring.
3. When faces with a daunting social event, research something of interest to the people you’ll meet so you can focus on putting them at their ease.
4. Schedule intimacy.
5. Understand what works for your shape.
6. We can all benefit from focusing on strengths in any given situation, rather than apologising for the bits that don’t fit.
7. Being tactile can be an advantage, just don’t go over the top. Keep my touch light using subtle gestures.
8. Think of challenges and obstacles you can have fun overcoming.
I shall apply all of these tips on one day and see if, by the end of the day I am indeed loved by the entire universe.
Next time I reach for chocolate, pause and ask myself: “What is this all about?”
I’ll get sick of hearing “What is this all about?” then. Surely the answer is simple? “This is about me.. eating that fucking huge bar of chocolate!”
The rules of living together
Buy 2 tellies – done
But only one bed – done
Hire a cleaner – Mum… do you fancy earning some pennies?
Don’t eat his food – His food? He’s not a dog, we tend to share the food. I think this means off his plate and his size portions. Damn damn damn!
Be clear about what I want – I always have been, clean ears, no debt and a roll in the hay on the Sabbath! Can’t be much clearer than that now can I – everything else is a bonus.
Set alarm half an hour early in the morning to get him before he goes to work. – This sound’s like he hasn’t much choice in the matter, plus I’m not a fan of death breath in the morning – so maybe I can build in an extra 5 minutes for teeth cleaning – oh the romance!
Give myself a hand (get myself off in front of him) - *blush*
Watch a scary movie together - Husband tried to woo me on one of our first dates with the a video (yes – one of those prehistoric things!) of Event Horizon, I ended up sleeping with him just to get away from the film. So this could actually work. If you haven’t seen Event Horizon, it’s one of the most horrible films ever ever!
Put on some porn - I’ve tried this before, but I’ve either ended up laughing, or cocking my head to one side wide eyed in disbelief at the sheer seemingly technical impossibilities of some of the positions.
Give him a massage - Maybe I could do this while he is in the bath so he gets a good scrub too. Multi tasking turns me on!
Talk dirty - “Yeah you filthy little scumbag of a husband, I’m going to rub turds in your face and make you drink tea through a gusset” I may need some tips of you guys here – I always feel like an idiot trying to talk dirty. I’d rather keep it British and comment on the weather.
Follow the panadol packing guide on page 169 when packing for a break away.
Boost my lip colour. 80s inspired neon lip colours. – The Pink lippy may be making a come back for this month then. Bugger.
Wear shimmer for a day – I shall go to work looking like a disco ball.
Be bold with colour - This refers to coloured mascara. I have some great electric blue mascara I won from Yves St Laurent, so I will be getting this out this month.
Treat my hair to a weekly treatment. – Will do!
Use a sharp Kohl pencil to draw on eyeliner before a liquid eyeliner. It’s all about the exaggerated flick. – I love wearing liquid eyeliner, but always forget and look like I’ve been punched in the face by 11 am.
Put foundation on lips before lipstick. Using a lip brush for precision. – I’m sure this tip has been around since I was reading Mizz and Sugar, and you end up with a nice sand bank of lipstick and foundation lined around your mush after a while. Maybe I wasn’t doing it right. I’ll give it a go.
Use shading and lightening to bring areas of the face forward or make them recede.
Be bold – play around with pigments and feel free to bring the colour right up to the brow bone for that classic 80s feel. The key is to carry it off with confidence.
This could either be the makeup tip of the century, or I’ll look like one of the tangerine queens behind certain makeup counters in boots.
Think braids. At lacroix, a topknot was paired with plaits for a look that Malcolm Edwards called ‘Parisian Chic meets hip-hop with cornrows’
Riiiiight that old fusion! I might have to get the hair dresser to do this for me, I have enough trouble with a ponytail.
Make waves with a celebrity style that’s perfect for long locks.
It won’t work, I won’t be able to achieve 40’s waves without a professional spending hours combing out the pot noodle that is there to begin with.
Have a complementary YSL perfect touch foundation consultation.
I did this and bought it – because I am a fool and was sucked in by the orange tentacle lady on the counter that slapped it on my face and baffled me with bollocks technology. It’s a foundation, not a bloody jet engine!
5 things I must not miss
Bestival: Sep 11th – 13th – This will have to be a telly job
Breakfast at Tiffany’s September 9th – Jan 9th, I’ve asked the Lady and she is up for seeing this.
Cancer research Handbag Amnesty 1st – 31st September. I don’t know If any of my handbags are posh enough.
Angels of Anarchy: Women Artists and Surrealism, Manchester art gallery Sep 26th – Jan 10th.
Milnoids had agreed to come with me to this one lunch time.
London Fashion Week: Sep 18th – 22
The Stylist is working this, so although its unlikely I will be able to get down to see it, I will get all the gossip and first hand accounts from her.
Choose a book from the reviewed book list and read.
I still need to finish Dorian Grey – eek!
Watch Broken Embraces at the corner house.
Nursey! If you are reading this will you come with me again?
Listen to Witney Houston, I look to You.
Watch Material Girl on BBC1
Don’t miss Running in heals E!
Harpers Island BBC3
Create a Kleenex cube
Mercury recons that now is the time to ask for a pay rise or call in debts. Much as you hate having to beg, needs must. Hopefully, you’ll then be able to make the most of the not inexpensive social opportunities offered by Venus.