My friend got engaged. I got a spray tan.

In the past week, one friend got engaged, one had a baby and one passed her driving test. My highlight of the week? Getting a spray tan.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my post spray glow. In fact, I’m tempted never to go back to my pale self, but adopting a biscuitty aroma and an orange aura isn’t quite the same as bringing a child into the world or having someone on one knee presenting you with a diamond. Still, I can pretend I’ve been off sunning myself somewhere glamorous rather than stripping to paper pants in the name of vanity.

I’ve only ever had a spray tan once before. Three years ago, when after purchasing a coral dress for a wedding, I decided I needed to look like I’d seen some sun. For those of you who don’t know me, or have never inspected my skin, I’m very pale. I have the skin tone of a ginger person without the ginger hair. So off I went to a salon, casually chit-chatted with the girl while she saw more of my flesh than I’d have liked, left, and woke up the next day like a gold statue with streaky ankles. This is why it has been three years, and why I was reluctant to try again.

When I got to the salon, they asked me what the special occasion was. Apart from a rare night out planned, I had no answer. The receptionist and I talked about holidays (she’s off to Greece for six days, any longer and she gets homesick), and then it was time. The most perfectly groomed, beautiful girl took me down to the tanning room and made me take my clothes off. I declined the paper knickers, in favour of keeping my own on (a mistake it turns out- brown pants are never a good look), wondered how not to flash my boobs at her, waddled through to the spray booth and waited for her to work her magic.

Fifteen minutes later and I was putting my clothes back on and admiring my new bronzed skin in the mirror. On my way up to pay for the treatment, the girl, let’s call her Amy, calls out “thanks for coming, hope you come again for another spray tan…or something else.”

As I handed over my £15, my mind started to wonder, what exactly did she mean by ‘something else’? What did she notice about me, while she sprayed me with brown mist and I stood in nothing but my Primark pants? Manicure? Pedicure? Bikini wax? Moustache bleaching?

All the way home I pondered this. There was me thinking that painting my nails more than once a week and wearing more makeup made me high maintenance, but even with a spray tan, it seems I’m further off than I thought. Now all thoughts of booking a holiday have been overtaken with further tanning plans, plus as many beauty treatments as I can have in order to look like the girl who sprayed me. After receiving compliments (albeit possibly backhanded) in the form of “you look so much better with a tan!”, I’m totally sold. Long live the biscuit smell, life’s about to get tantastic!

Moisturising with baby oil makes you feel like a roast chicken.

So yesterday was day one of the month long challenge to be high maintenance. Before going to bed on Sunday night, I set my alarm, adding on an extra 15 minutes to allow for extra preening before work. When said alarm went off yesterday morning, I looked at it confused, decided I must have accidentally set it wrong, slept for another quarter of an hour, and consequently failed my challenge before it had even begun.

However, if I gave up now I’d have nothing to write on my blog for the rest of the month, so for the purpose of the challenge I carried on.

Once out of the shower I’d only left myself with 40 minutes in which to beautify myself to some kind of WAG level. Making lunch was forefitted in favour of blow drying and straightening my hair, and I set to work.

Normally I don’t dry my hair fully, and even rarer are the times that I bother to actually have a good hair day by using my GHD’s, but as it was a special occasion, I spent twenty five minutes sectioning, drying and straightening my hair. By this time, I was rapidly running out of time to get ready, so any attempts at finding a nice outfit were thwarted, and instead I chose to spend my remaining time wisely…applying masses of makeup to my face.

The following pictures show the before and after of my morning beautifying session. Already wondering if I should take bets on how many people joke “which one is the before picture?!”

 

(Please let me also apologise for the atrocious pictures. This is what happens when you use that flip lens option on an iphone. )

As it turned out, after caking myself in products (and drawing on my eyebrows, whilst trying to avoid a ‘scouse brow’ scenario), I was fifteen minutes later leaving the house. From an employers point of view this is bad because that’s fifteen minutes later I got to my desk, but from my point of view I was impressed that I managed to apply twice as much makeup and actually do my hair in only an extra quarter of an hour. Of course, I’d probably be congratulating myself a lot more if I hadn’t turned off the alarm, but that’s another story altogether.

Catching my reflection in a mirror at work had me reaching for the tissues. Not because of an amazing, emotional transformation, but because I realised I was quite orange and needed to quickly remove some excess glow before too many people asked about my Essex-over. Crisis averted. Tissues tangoed.

After work on a Monday I go to a zumba class. My usual getting ready involves scraping my hair off my face, removing my makeup and remembering to take my fiver to pay the instructor. However, now it was different. I headed to the bathroom with foundation and mascara in hand, and set to work ‘topping up’ my slap ready for exercise. My usual messy hair was replaced with a high ponytail, and by the time I left, I looked like one of those girls you get in the gym. The one who isn’t you, who looks immaculate, while you’re sweating away on the treadmill next to her.

Even my extra efforts didn’t stop me adopting my usual sweaty lobster look after the class though, so hitting the shower at my boyfriend’s when I got home, I realised I’d forgotten to bring moisturiser for when I got out. Desperately scanning the bathroom, I contemplated shaving cream and deodorant before clapping eyes on the bottle of baby oil on the side. By this time I had pretty much dried off, so ignoring the instruction of ‘apply to damp skin’, I merrily began lathering myself with the grease. Noticeably glossier, I returned to the bedroom, only to get the boyfriend’s disapproving comment: “Are you going to get into bed all greasy?” Brilliant.

Before we went to sleep, I asked him to get me a glass of water. “Why do I have to get you one?” He grumbled. “Because I’m high-maintenence now, so you better get used to it!” I informed him.

After begrudgingly getting me some water, he turned to me and said “I think I’m going to become high maintenance too”. I wonder if it’s worth me telling him it’s less about fetching drinks and more about leg waxing? Maybe I’ll wait and see…

How to be High Maintenance (the lazy girls’ guide.)

Right now I’m sitting here in makeup I put on at 8am (it’s now 10pm). I’m wearing a hoodie, my hair is scraped into what I hoped would be a bun, but actually more resembles a tortilla wrap, and remains unbrushed. I’ve broken two nails today, and my remedy has been to nibble them down rather than file them. I fully intended on moisturising after getting out of the shower this morning, but instead I got sidetracked by Facebook, and my legs have spent another day bracing the winter cold without the aid of body butter.

Basically I’m a bit of a mess.

The truth is, I just can’t be bothered. I know you’re probably reading this thinking “Oh she’s so pretentious, making out like she doesn’t care about her appearance when she won’t leave the house without makeup.” Well, I suppose you’re not wrong- I do try to take pride in my appearance, but I always fall short of succeeding. In short, I get bored. It’s not that I don’t want to look nice, it’s just that everything seems like so much effort, so instead I settle for whatever look I can achieve in five minutes or less, then sulk when everybody else looks better than me.

When I was thirteen I spent every evening poring over magazines and trying out the beauty tips, and every scrap of pocket money on face masks and makeup. Then the real world happened and I found my eyebrows becoming less regularly plucked and my hair less regularly blow dried. I miss my teenage self and the effort I made to impress those boys in the playground (even though they were spotty and I had braces and terrible hair.) Even so, I’m pretty sure me from ten years ago would be tutting at the new me and asking where she put her tweezers.

So…my new challenge is to spend a whole month being more “high maintenance”. More time getting ready, no copping out of doing my hair by scraping it up, actually plucking my eyebrows rather than strategically moving my fringe…you get the idea. So, starting tomorrow I will be on a mission to stop being lazy and start looking lush. And for tonight…well, I’ll carry on nibbling my nails down to a reasonable length, and will probably forget to moisturise before bed…

Did I drink?

Err… yes, I did.

So my challenge for January was to not drink alcohol (after a horrific New Year’s Day hangover from hell). I was quite good with refraining from hitting the bottle so to speak. I went to a cocktail party and chose to drive, I impressed everyone with my efforts, I felt better about myself…

Then I went to London at the end of the month to meet my friends Abby and Jemma. Abby was off to New Zealand for a year, and I felt it would only be right to drink with her…after all, the glasses of wine had to last me a year in effect. So yes I broke the challenge two days early, but what’s a bit of Pinot between friends? Plus, I became a cheap date for the night after not drinking for almost a month, which I’m sure nobody was complaining about!

 

Lastly, if you count a month as 28 days, I technically finished the challenge so erm, time for a glass of wine to celebrate.

Resolution Challenge (yawn).

So, it is the new year, which means it’s the boring time of year when people make promises that they’ll never keep to achieve unachievable things. I am one of those people. As it’s already the 10th January, you can probably tell I haven’t kept to any ‘be more organised’ resolutions.

I don’t usually make resolutions, usually for the reasons stated above. What’s the point? All they do is set you up for failure. So why, I hear you ask, are you doing it to yourself in 2012? Umm, good point, I don’t actually know.

I haven’t made many resolutions, so for a start, the failure rate has to be less (surely?) I also haven’t chosen anything too ridiculous- my ambitions to find and capture a real unicorn will, therefore have to cease for now.

Reso One:

No drinking for January

This one came about after New Year’s eve. Every single new year’s I’m a drunken wreck- I can’t explain it, because I’m generally well behaved for the rest of the year (apart from weddings, but they’re a different story.) The trouble is, I never go ‘out’ out on NYE, it’s usually a house party/gathering thing, which means no cold air to sober you up, no 3am kebab and copious amounts of wine being poured into your glass when you’re not looking. Hence the drunken mess that ensues, and hence the resolution.

I know not drinking for a month might sound easy to a lot of people, but I like wine just to drink. I like the taste of it, and it’s refreshing, so to me it’s like drinking a coke or something. Oh and I work in a vineyard, so it’s pretty hard to be a non-drinker at the weekends. Lunchtime creeps around and someone says: “Anyone fancy a glass of bubbly?” Err, yes please. This weekend I stuck to just tea and coffee, but it wasn’t easy. Still, this resolution works out quite well for friends/boyfriend/ anyone else who wants a lift over the next few weeks, because mine’ll be an orange juice please.

 

Reso Two:

Be healthier/fitter/get thinner

Urgh I know, the age old promise I’ll never keep. On January 1st my plan was to run every day, only eat seeds and be a size 8 by February. By January 10th my plan is to exercise ‘frequently’ eat ‘a more balanced diet’ and ‘look better in my current clothes’. I do like exercise and seeds, but I haven’t got many hours in the day when I’m not at work or travelling to and from work, which kind of limits the time I have to exercise, and I just really like food, so…

I did buy new trainers and join a Zumba class though. And I bought healthy snacks for my desk at work. (For me to eat, not the desk, obviously.) And I might have accidentally shown interest in signing up for a half marathon in October so umm, running could be becoming a lot more frequent than I expected!

 

Reso Three:

Be better with money

It’s not that I’m terrible with money, but I have a tendency to buy things to cheer me up. I often end up justifying purchases to myself, and ending up with a load of crap I neither need nor want. This year seemed to be as good a time as any to become a saver. For one thing, I’m off to New York in February and need spending money, which will only appear if I stop buying shoes now. Another reason I need to save is the slight possibility of moving out this year, and as much as I like the idea of minimalist living, I’m going to need a sofa, and probably a fancy rug somewhere. Lastly I need to stop spending money because other people think I’m a shopaholic and I need to dispel the rumours. In my defence, I never buy anything expensive, but a lot of little things soon add up.

The first few days of the year were going really well. Then I got a cold, felt rubbish and bought myself a bracelet in the Fenwicks sale to cheer myself up. Then I got really stressed out at the weekend and ended up ordering two pairs of boots- the justification was that they could be for New York, but I definitely shouldn’t have bought them. Luckily they really were cheap, which is my one actual justification- I needed boots and would have paid more after the sales ended. So, yeah. From now on though (or until New York) I’m going to try and be really good with my money. I’m also going to be a grown up and open a savings account. Eeek!

 

Although it’s not a very exciting one, my challenge for January is to see my resolutions through and actually try my best to stick to them. I promise not to buy any more boots, and I also promise not to lie and say I’m feeling a bit ill when Zumba time comes around next week…

 

Happy New Year!

The First Challenge

I know, I know, it’s been a long (very long) time since I last blogged. This is mostly down to the real world happening- basically I finished uni, got a job, moved back home and no longer had free time (or any time) to blog.

So I’m sorry.

On the plus side, after contracting some kind of soup related food poisoning (don’t buy Heinz chicken curry soup. Ever), I have found myself with a bit of free time, hence the blog post.

Although it seems I openly documented all of my challenges on here, there was actually one I didn’t write about, mostly through fear of failure. When I first started uni and didn’t really know what to expect, I hoped for a 2.1 because that’s what other friends had got in their degrees, it’s what my step siblings achieved and it seemed like a fairly safe bet, right? Well, not so much. After the first year I came out with a low 2.2, mostly attributed to a radio package I made complete with background music (which my lecturer failed me for because he didn’t like my choice of music.) I know that first year doesn’t count, so I went into second year without too many worries, worked a reasonable amount, didn’t party as much as I could have- and came out with a 2.1. Just. Like, scraped it.

By the time I went into my third year, I was determined not to come out with a grade I’d just scraped. Unfortunately, about six weeks into the term I had to have an operation, which meant me missing nearly a month of uni. When I went to seek advice from one of the student advisors, here advice was this: “To be honest, if you’re missing that much uni in your final year, my advice to you would be to quit this year and come back next year.” Umm, no. I’d already spent a gap year working in the toy department at Woolworths, the last thing I needed was to leave, bum around for a bit and then maybe or maybe not rejoin the course the following year.

While I was recovering from my op (which mostly consisted of watching back to back Gossip Girl episodes and eating Ben & Jerry’s) I devised a plan. I, who had never gotten a first before for ANY of my work was going to get a First Class Honours Degree. The trouble was, I couldn’t actually tell anybody about my plan because I was pretty sure there was no way in hell it would actually work.

I got back to uni and dedicated my life to late night library sessions, and was pleasantly surprised when a group project we submitted got a first.Then I got another first for something else, and slowly I started to get my hopes up. Not too much though, because in reality, a couple of good grades weren’t going to overhaul my whole degree.

A couple of weeks before finishing uni, when the odd grade had started to come back, I sat with my housemate Charlotte and we tried to guess what we would end up with. Only when I started putting my potential grades into an Excel grid (which Charlotte’s coursemate had made- we weren’t THAT dedicated to the cause) I started to see a glimmer of hope.

Results day came, and the Solent website went down. So I sat for hours, and hours, and a bit more time waiting to hear some news. Then it came. An email from Solent saying I’d got a First Class Honours degree.

So there we go, my secret challenge paid off. And now I’m all graduated and stuff. (Will post embarassing cap and gown picture later). What I have learned from this is two things.

1) You actually can do something if you put your mind to it, and

2) Never listen to the student advisory people because THEY KNOW SHIT ALL.

So yeah, now I can get back to doing fun challenges again. Ones that don’t involve dedicating my life to the library.

x

 

 

 

Time to stop being a loser

That’s loser as in losing things, not the uncool kind (although maybe I should try to stop being that kind of loser too!)

I’m known for being clumsy. I frequently knock things over, break things, trip up, walk into things. However, recently I have come to realise I’m also quite prone to losing things.

Back at Christmas time I was housesitting and looking after two dogs. Then, one day my ring disappeared. Not any ring either; this was one my boyfriend had given me the Christmas before. I immediately blamed the dog- after all, he had eaten the buttons off my coat the previous day. Three days later it turned out he hadn’t eaten the ring at all, it was down the side of the sofa.

My boyfriend Jamie is a patient man, but he has previously said to me, “everything I buy you, you either break or lose.” I try to prove him wrong, but increasingly it seems he may be right. Just the other day I lost the camera he bought me. It turned up under my bed a few days later, but not before I had freaked out, turned my room upside down in a frantic search and contemplated secretly buying another one so he wouldn’t notice.

It’s not just things he buys me either. For easter my mum bought me a beautiful moonstone ring. Yesterday I put it on, and then it was gone. I have no recollection of taking it off, yet I’m doubtful it would have fallen off. Where it is is anybody’s guess, but another frantic search ensued. Then, just a couple of hours later I went out for a few drinks and managed to lose some money.

Fed up of losing things, I have challenged myself to  try and keep everything in order for a week. If I can go 7 days without losing anything (apart from my mind) then maybe I can counter-act some of my embedded natural loser ability!