Tag Archives: men

back to the beginning

27 Sep

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The reason I have opened today’s post with an old photo of Bon Scott smiling through the agony of a badly infected testicle that you can practically hear straining against the seam of those skin-tight grey jeans is…. sorry, I’ve completely lost my train of thought.

well hello

well hello

Oh yeah.  Something to do with an idea I had for one of my wig assessments.  Any man out there willing to let me apply mascara to his chest hair to achieve the look?  Get in touch via my contact page.  I’ll make you look cool, promise.

This being-in-a-new-city-and-not-knowing-many-locals-well-enough-to-ask-if-they’ll-let-me-paint-their-bare-bodies situation is going to quickly become a problem for me at college.  All I ever had to do in Oban was pull a ‘having a creative idea’ face and BAM, everyone’s volunteering to get naked, painted and photographed.  Where are you, Glasgow exhibitionists?

Perhaps I should be careful what I wish for.  Remember what happened when I put an ad on Gumtree looking for a flat-share?  Yeah.

Anyhoo.  Here are some other rock-god chests I wouldn’t mind painting, since I’m feeling particularly self indulgent today.

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Reckless Love, who I shall be seeing next Thursday with Carissa – we are returning to the scene of last year’s crime…

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Jettblack. When you google images of them, two pictures of me come up, which pleases me immensely. Lick lick.

Alright, that’s enough of that.  We’ve got a lot to cover today.

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Autumn’s here.  Next week it will be October.  I’m a little shit-scared of how fast time is galloping by.

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I feel both settled and still very new in Glasgow.  The very first time I arrived here in March 2008, I had a budget of £15 per day – £2 for food (Subway 6-inch of the day), £13 for my hostel bed which included breakfast, and dinner was a row of chocolate from the enormous stockpile I had bought in Belgium.

There is something about having absolutely no money that is kind of liberating.  I mean, it fucking sucks, but it simplifies things.  I walked and walked and walked around, day and night.  I ‘saved’ all the free museums and art galleries for shit-weather days, and just walked the rest of the time.  I would sleep in until right before free breakfast ended, so I wouldn’t be awake for too long burning calories and getting hungry.  Late at night I would sit in my bunk writing, watching the others in my 14-bed dorm, wishing I was travelling with a big group of friends like they all seemed to be, wishing I knew where to go and what to do.

Everyone I spoke to raved about Edinburgh.  Nobody seemed to think that Glasgow was up to much.  I didn’t necessarily agree but after nearly 2 weeks walking and walking and walking around, I thought I could probably justify forking out for a bus to Edinburgh to see what all the fuss was about.  There began a chain of events that lead me to running the backpackers’ hostel in Oban for 5 years, but that’s another story for another time.

What I didn’t immediately realise was that I’d developed quite a good relationship with Glasgow in this formative period of my early backpacking days.  I didn’t have a head full of shit about how dangerous Glasgow was, so it didn’t occur to me to feel unsafe cruising the mean streets on my own in the middle of the night.  I think I have always been reasonably sensible so I wasn’t going anywhere actually dodgy at night, but in retrospect I think the whole experience would have been different, and ruined, if I had been scared.

Instead, I felt Glasgow’s friendliness, I felt like it was a good place to be if you weren’t from here.  People heard my accent and were interested.  I was a young woman travelling alone so people went out of their way to make sure I was ok.  I got invited into people’s homes for cups of tea and to look in their old family photo albums.  They wrote down their addresses so I could send them postcards from wherever I went next.  No one stabbed me, and I was never even offered heroin.

Glasgow is my Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.  Glasgow is my hooker with a heart of gold, my rough diamond.  Glasgow’s reputation might not be the best, but you have to cop a feel for yourself, make your own mind up.

And do you think I can get the effing gif of Julia Roberts and Richard Gere in The Diamond Necklace Scene to work?  Gah!

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Anyway, here I am again, back where I first started my Scottish adventure five and a half years ago.  My budget is about the same again, but the new job I start tomorrow will hopefully have LOTS of overtime and put an end to all this being-broke bullshit.  It’s really cramping my style.

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Are you still reading?  Good for you.  This week at college!

Kim Kardashian-style kontouring!

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Saoirse kontoured to within an inch of her life

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and just to think, most people try to get their makeup to match their skin tone and NOT leave a streaky brown tide mark around their jaw.

Wig work!

Ashleigh rocking the 90s-kids-TV-presenter look

Ashleigh rocking the 90s-kids-TV-presenter look

She would have been the coolest girl at my high school in 1998

She would have been the coolest girl at my high school in 1998

not pubes, just another wig sitting in front of the mirror

not pubes, just another wig sitting in front of the mirror

… and posing, bitches.

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So here’s AC/DC with their 1980 hit, You Shook Me All Night Long, because it’s Friday.  I know this flog has attracted the attention of many classic rock puritans internationally who are going to light up the whole internet with bitter posts about how you can’t have a photo of Bon Scott’s crotch one minute, and be signing off with a Brian Johnson hit the next, but all I can say is bite me.  Also, AC/DC are Australian*.  Ha!

Happy Friday, lovers Xx

*No one in Scotland likes hearing this truth.

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men, makeup and me

24 Jun

Did you know that most of the winners of the Academy Award for Best Makeup are men? I was kinda surprised by that.  I think we have some sexism here, folks.

Not sure who is being most sexist; me, for making assumptions about the makeup industry being chicks-only?  The film industry for giving all the good jobs to the boys?  Or the Academy for overlooking a shit-ton of talented women and only recognising the relatively few men in the industry?

Anyway, we’re not here today to delve too deeply into that.  I just thought I would draw it to your attention, as when I win an Oscar, I will be even more special because I’m a woman, and the world will be 0.00000000000000000000000000000001% less sexist in that moment.  I really am making this planet a better place for us all.

So.  As previously discussed:

  • while makeup CAN change the world;
  • no one NEEDS makeup (by this I mean you look fine just the way you are), but if you LIKE makeup and WANT to get involved;
  • makeup can be enjoyed by EVERYONE, and ANYONE can be good at it.

Glad we’ve cleared that up.

Speaking of men, makeup and the Oscars.  Whenever I am chatting to a male and they find out that I’m an aspiring makeup artiste, they’ll react in one of two ways.

Either ‘cool/that’s nice/tell me more/good for you/who cares let’s talk about the weather’, OR they’ll leap about screaming “NO WAY would I ever let you do my makeup!!!  Argh!  You’d make me look like a girl, do you even have a spare skirt with you and do you think your heels would fit???”

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One thing these two types of men have in common is that I didn’t offer to do their makeup.  Of course, I love doing male makeup and I also happen to think that:

  • there’s nothing wrong with men getting done up to look like girls, if they want;
  • there is such thing as makeup on men that still has them looking like men.

Have these people never heard of Jack Sparrow, Alice Cooper, Brandon Flowers?  Sheeeeesh.

ladies, I know where all the good ones are hiding!

7 Jun

do u want to share a nice place with a nice handsome guy?;)

I am living in one bedroom flat, and I like to shear my Flat with decent female if you inerested

you are so cute!

Hi there are u still looking for room I have something for u , don’t worry about rent just phone me

ON THE INTERNET!  THAT’S where they all are.  Just waiting for someone to put an ad on Gumtree for a flat-share, before they pounce with close-up photos of their penises*.

Sigh.  I’m trying to get whoreganised for starting the makeup artistry study at Clydebank, you see.  At the moment, all I know is that I’ve got a place on the course, and that classes begin on 19 August.  As I intend to go balls-to-the-wall with the course, this will involve defecting from Oban and being present, focused, committed and completely available somewhere near the college at least, from mid-August onwards.

Which is exciting and fabulous; I like Glasgow.  I’m lucky too; my boss isn’t making me quit my cool job up here in Oban to embark on this new adventure.  August is probably the worst month in which to make myself scarce, as it’s our busiest up here – yet still he’s being all cool with it.  The idea, at this stage with NO INFORMATION WHATSOEVER FROM THE COLLEGE, is that I’ll be down there in Glasgow for part of the week, and up here in Oban as much as practical and possible.

So what I’m looking for is a room in a flat with nice normal people who already live there.  Somewhere that will be easy-access to the college.  As I’m not sure how much of the week I’ll be spending there, the most important thing is that public transport between my new digs and college is quick and easy, and that my co-inhabitants don’t try to get fresh with me.  Unless I say they can.

The lonely hearts that are replying to my business-like, non-sexual and entirely uninviting ad on Gumtree represent quite a wide and vivid spectrum of un-gentlemanliness.  Some are obvious creeps, but some are just lonely and want someone else to be there when they get home.  And I’m actually not here to make fun of that.

I pity them only because they’re barking up completely the wrong tree if they’re approaching ME to give their home any kind of feminine touch.  I mean, I’ve been known to throw dishes in the bin instead of washing up.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a pig (as evidenced by my unwillingness to have dirty dishes lying around), but I’m just not one to buy flowers or bake cookies, sorry guys.

You could only have ever described me as a house proud domestic goddess during protracted periods of underemployment, when I had literally nothing better to do and couldn’t afford to be out in public having an actual good time.  This was before things like laptops and broadband entered the Imosphere, so self-entertainment was a different animal.

Just to be clear, I can bake, polish silver, vacuum the skirting boards properly.  I know about stain removal.  I know which cleaning products to use on the various household surfaces.  I know that tidying the sofas can make you a rich woman; there is ALWAYS change in that bad boy.  A veritable gold mine!

I am lightening with an iron; when I was a kid I got 5c per shirt, so I had to be damn fast or I’d be losing money standing there.  I really enjoy a clean, orderly home – and that shit was my bread and butter when I was an enterprising child fleecing my parents out of $10 a week to do ALL of the housework (the equivalent of -$7.82 per hour in today’s economic climate; I bet they still laugh about it, but at the time, when I was too young to be legally employed anywhere else, it was like winning the lottery).  It’s just… there’re so many better things to do.

So like I was saying, I pity the fool(s) who are looking for a guid wee wifey because, as Carissa wisely said, anyone who would post or respond to an invitation to share a rent-free bed with a guy you haven’t met in exchange for doing his domestic shit-work… would have to be completely insane.  Gasp – I’ve just figured it out.

Anyway.  Who cares.  I’ll find somewhere.

Oh and I did Carissa’s nails, all cartoon like.

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*Not impressed, ‘Joanna’.

call me crazy…

18 Apr
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Me, supporting (a) Denmark in the World Cup or (b) marriage equality? Cast your votes in the comments below!

… but I think we – all us human adult people – all should have the same rights.  Equal rights for everyone.  The right to vote, own property, earn the same wage for doing the same job.  And if you’re in love with someone and you want to get married, that should be that.

You can't argue with Oprah.

You can’t argue with Oprah.

It’s a bit embarrassing, that in 2013, we’re even still discussing it.  Big cheers for New Zealand who have just passed the bill to legalise same-sex marriage.  Now can the rest of us get with the fuckin’ program?

If you DON’T believe in marriage equality, you’re like … one of those people 50 years ago who thought it should be illegal for black people to marry white people.  That’s what you are.

And if that’s you, please get your eyeballs off my flog.  This website isn’t for assholes.

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I’m serious

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