Monday, May 30, 2011
Most people who peruse this blog on a regular basis don’t have a Blogger account and think they can’t comment on a post because of that. Wrong. Here’s how:
See the link below each post that says “complaints/ nods of approval”? Click that.
You’ll then be brought to a comment form which looks like this:
If you do not have a Blogger account or a Livejournal account or any of the other blogging accounts listed, select “Name/ URL” from the drop-down menu.
A form will then pop up which looks like this:
Enter your details as appropriate. You do not need to enter a URL.
Type your comment and click “Post Comment”.
Your comment won’t publish immediately since I moderate all comments but it will be approved if it’s not rude or offensive.
So fret not, dear readers, you do not need to match any special criteria to comment on this blog. All you need is a name. In fact, you don’t even need a name. You can be anonymous if you want (but note that hateful comments will not be published).
The above is what I wore today doing my bits and pieces about town; going to the bank, the doctor, and the post office to collect my visa.
Blouse – Charity Shop, €6
Denim shorts – Penneys, €13
Headscarf – Charity Shop, €1
Brogues – Penneys, €13
Necklace – Penneys, €3
Basically, everything I own is from Penneys (Primark) or second hand shops. I work the hobo lifestyle. I think it suits me.
Feedback on this post would be appreciated: I’m timid when it comes to outfit posts so any constructive, or otherwise, criticism would be great! Click the “complaints/ nods of approval” link below. Cheers. :)
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The same night I looked like this, I ruined my life for the umpteenth time. Reverted back to the days of having to send a thousand apologies the morning after the night before. I’m a brat. On the brightside, that kind of thing hasn’t happened in forever. So that’s good. Nor do I intend for it to happen again anytime soon. Saturday will be nice and I’ll be good. That Facebook group is true - ‘Pre-drinking might save you money but, sadly, costs you your dignity’. I always leave things behind in The Strand – my glasses, my cardigan, my phone. That night, I left my dignity. And also my big turquoise ring. Dammit.
Friday, May 27, 2011
I’ve added a list of inspiring blogs to the sidebar of my blog. I really recommend looking them up. They are all cheerful and bright and written by talented people and are absolutely the source of a lot of my inspiration. :)
On an unrelated note, Charles Bukowski said, “We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.” (Incidentally, one of my favourite songs in the world is one called Bukowski by Modest Mouse, a song which you can listen to here.)
Thursday, May 26, 2011
I hope someday somebody wants to hold you for 20 minutes straight and that's all they do. They don't pull away. They don't look at your face. They don't try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms and hold on tight, without an ounce of selfishness to it.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
I miss you. I miss when we were friends. Remember when I thought you were the funniest, sweetest, most intelligent and interesting person in the world? I sort of still do. But I convinced myself that I didn’t. Mainly because everyone loves you (even though you think they don’t), and I didn’t want to be like everyone else. But I really do think you are wonderful. You don’t though. You think you’re crap. And that kills me. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I wish you could see how lovely and fabulous and perfectly you you are.
You know what bothers me most? You’re with the wrong person. You know you’re with the wrong person but you’re not doing anything about it. You could change your situation but you won’t. I really do believe that some people are attached to their sadness and their vices and the things that make them unhappy. You’re with this person out of habit, familiarity. But you’re wasting yourself and you know it. You could be with someone who loves you. You are a lovable person and I hope you know that. You are lovely and lovable and loved.
I know that it’s easy for me to say this from the peripheries, not knowing you as much as I like to think I do, but we’re perfect for each other. I get you. And you get me. But we don’t even talk anymore.
So last July I cut my hair really short. I have no idea why. I think it was because it was blonde and I reckoned it was in terrible condition (in retrospect, it really wasn’t) so I dyed it brown and chopped the whole lot off. I wanted a ‘funky’ look. Since my hairdresser at the time was a bit of a lunatic and had been, in her youth, one of those hippy girls with flowers in her waist-length hair, and was constantly going on about the dawning of the Age of Aquarius (why, I don’t know), she had some interesting ideas for my hair. Cut the whole lot off. Asymmetrical, fringe and Sweet Fanny Adams at the back. Well, no, just a lot less than before.
Here’s a picture to supplement my crap description (very bleary-eyed but I love my shiny fringe):
Here’s me with that hair in my natural environment, The Pub:
Anyway, I grew tired of that hair pretty quickly and ended up bleaching it (so that it turned a nasty orange colour) and wishing and hoping that it would grow. Here’s my orange hair in all its tacky glory (juxtaposed to which is the love of my life, Ev):
After battling with straw-coloured hair for about a month and a half, I got blonde highlights and my hair was growing at a reasonable pace. Of course, by January of this year, I was no longer content with hair that was well on its way to being actually nice. So I dyed it pink. I’d had a dream that I’d dyed it pink and it’s pretty much been a life’s ambition. So I made the dream a reality. (I’m not going to post a picture of that first attempt at pink hair since all the photos I have involve me looking like a drunk idiot.)
The pink hair was okay. Not the worst. But the dye didn’t cover all my hair so I decided to bleach it and try again. Big mistake. Not only did it burn most of my scalp but it also created a bit of a dandruff issue (too much information, I know, I know). It reminded me of the time I fell and cut my head and had to get it glued back together – the same kind of scabs formed (I know, I’m sorry).
After the bleaching catastrophe, I thought it best to leave my hair alone for a while, to let it regroup and relax. I actually really liked the candy-floss look that burning my hair to within an inch of its life created (that’s ‘cotton candy’ to the Yanks reading this):
After about two weeks with candy-floss on my scalp, I chose to try again with actual proper pink hair. I used Fudge’s Paintbox dye in ‘Pink Moon’ (which can be purchased online here). It turned out pretty bright and I loved it intensely for all of about a fortnight:
Then I got sick and was in hospital and missed about two weeks of college and got depressed and fed up of everything and ended up dying my hair back to brown. Of course, it didn’t turn out brown, it just dulled the pink and turned into one of those colours that don’t have a name. (I’ve been most of them, those indescribable colours.) Let’s ignore the fact that I’m dressed like a magpie/ blackbird/ lunatic (me and my housemates decided to be birds for the night – our inspiration can be found here):
Because the brown dye didn’t cover my hair completely, I then opted for an auburn shade, since red tones will cover most other colours:
It eventually became patchy and technicoloured and there was still some pink bits to be found. It had faded so much that there was actually real blonde bits in places (peroxide’s talent for stripping hair of all colour is very much unrivalled). It still looked sort of okay in photographs (which, let’s face it, is the most important thing in our 21st century Facebook culture) but I desperately wanted my blonde hair back.
After a trip to the hairdresser’s today though, and hearing some home truths (ones which I already knew but didn’t want to admit), that dream has been put on the backburner. My hair has been growing since last July and I’d finally gotten it back to a desirable, lovely length (though the following picture obviously does it no justice):
Unfortunately, most of that hair was dead and I spent three hours in the hairdresser’s today discussing my options. Basically, the whole lot got ‘deep treated’ and chopped off. I am now back to where I started, but with hair that is a whole lot healthier. It’s no surprise that my hair suffered after months and months of serious abuse in the form of bleach, ammonia, heat, product and over-shampooing. But I have repented and I have prayed to every hair god I know of and I have bought Joico’s K-Pak Deep-Penetrating Reconstructor and I am sorry, dear hair. Can we start over? Can we try again? I’m sorry. I didn’t respect you, I know that. But I’ve changed. I want to try again, hair. I love you. (What’s left of you.)
Hopefully, in three week’s time, I’ll go back to my lovely hairdresser, Nicola, and she’ll make me blonde again. In the meantime, I’m stuck with a colour that looks like straw-colour and peach-colour met, had coitus and produced ugly babies.
The moral of the story is: don’t mess about with your hair.