In the last week I've discovered a trait that I never knew that existed. I am the Picasso of cake decorating. Strangely enough, I really am. If the definition of Picasso is abstract, contrasting colours and faces, well, I've ticked all those boxes. It may not have been the most realistic of faces that I made on that cake, but none of Picasso's art was particularly life like. I mean he painted his girlfriend and if I'm honest I think I would be a little bit insulted if the person I loved thought that I had a green tinge to my face. Not cool Pablo, Not cool at all.
I think as a society that we should use icing to portray feelings more often. Not like 'will you marry me?' that's a poor effort. I will not be content by being engaged via the medium of cake. I'm sorry, there is no effort in that. It will taste good, but seriously? I'm the least imaginative person for awe inspiring event planning but I'd hope that when I'm proposed to that it's better than a cake with a 4 word question on it. I was thinking more on the lines of 'put the kettle on'. This would be useful. I'd happily keep a stash of 12 in my bag in assorted colours, because if you give someone a gift they are guaranteed to make you tea. GUARANTEED. But be careful with that icing, wouldn't want to smudge that. You might end up saying some thing you don't mean. They may marry you. Maybe.
Saturday, 21 January 2012
Thursday, 19 January 2012
The Untamed Rabbit Trend
Some girls look so different without make up on it's almost like they are two different people. I can live without make up, I may feel a little more self conscious but I could do it, I did it for 13 years, it can't be that hard. I don't live for fake tan. A light glow is lovely, but the smell, oh my. It's actually disgusting. My mum told me it has the same chemicals in it as the chemicals which are used in browning biscuits. Biscuits do not smell like this. It just smells like vomit, and I refuse to use something on my body which resembles the odour of sick.
Back on the subject of no make up, some girls look prettier without make up and I am certainly not one of them. I look like a rabbit. Many people would associate rabbits with fluffy, cute or sweet. I am neither of them. no, I am the type of rabbit which has been caught in headlights and run over, survived and resented the human race forevermore. This rabbit would also be very very scruffy and maybe attack the odd tree.
Not that i look much better with make up actually on.
I think girls should embrace this feral rabbit look. This year I am going to have a whole week without make up. That may seem a little bit of a poor effort, but really, for me i don't realise how much i wear untill i put it into context of a whole week . A whole week. One whole week. I don't know, i'm definately doing it though.
Maybe my pores will be clearer, maybe my spots will clear up faster or maybe I will look like a widerbeast for a week. Time will tell....
Back on the subject of no make up, some girls look prettier without make up and I am certainly not one of them. I look like a rabbit. Many people would associate rabbits with fluffy, cute or sweet. I am neither of them. no, I am the type of rabbit which has been caught in headlights and run over, survived and resented the human race forevermore. This rabbit would also be very very scruffy and maybe attack the odd tree.
Not that i look much better with make up actually on.
I think girls should embrace this feral rabbit look. This year I am going to have a whole week without make up. That may seem a little bit of a poor effort, but really, for me i don't realise how much i wear untill i put it into context of a whole week . A whole week. One whole week. I don't know, i'm definately doing it though.
Maybe my pores will be clearer, maybe my spots will clear up faster or maybe I will look like a widerbeast for a week. Time will tell....
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
Walking In Winter
Winter is beautiful. I love the cold nights, and the orange glow of the lampposts on the lightly wet pavement. The shimmer is stunning. I forget that these things happen. These small ridiculous things that are true beauty. It's simple, isn't it? Winter. Everyone complains about it but the cold is sharpens everything. I feel more awake, alive. Ready. I love it when it is dark at half 4 in the afternoon, it feels like the night will last forever. I love watching the sunrise and sunset. I love watching the mist rise every morning over the woods near my house. I love chunky knit scarves. I love mittens with panda faces on. I love the walks home from school in the dark, the danger keeps me on edge. I love the bright headlights of the cars that drive past. I love storms, the tiny disturbance floods my road. I like the crunch of the frost beneath my boots walking through the park in the morning. I love the excuse of getting into your pyjamas at 5 in the afternoon because you can. I love that feeling of nostalgia when all the old films are on. I love warm radiators that numb my hands after suffering without gloves. I love over sized jumpers.
Winter brings this out in me, this love-ish-ness (it's a new word). I appreciate things a lot more in winter. Mainly nature. But I also start new hobbies, or time wasters - depending on your opinion. Knitting is one of them. I am an old woman. But I've got into a bit of an odd habit lately: walking. I know that seems a bit regular, and yes I have used my legs for the past 16 years but I've been walking instead of getting the bus or a lift to places. Wanting to walk.
I think I'm more scared of walking through my local shopping centre than walking through the woods at night. Is that logical? Sensible? Or ridiculous? To be honest I don't really care. I have heavy shoes that will hurt anyone who approaches fast, threateningly, or with a skip in their step. Be warned.
Winter brings this out in me, this love-ish-ness (it's a new word). I appreciate things a lot more in winter. Mainly nature. But I also start new hobbies, or time wasters - depending on your opinion. Knitting is one of them. I am an old woman. But I've got into a bit of an odd habit lately: walking. I know that seems a bit regular, and yes I have used my legs for the past 16 years but I've been walking instead of getting the bus or a lift to places. Wanting to walk.
I think I'm more scared of walking through my local shopping centre than walking through the woods at night. Is that logical? Sensible? Or ridiculous? To be honest I don't really care. I have heavy shoes that will hurt anyone who approaches fast, threateningly, or with a skip in their step. Be warned.
Thursday, 12 January 2012
Face Planting Into Cake
I hate to say it but, I love dieting. I know I don't look it, but I really really do. I refuse to go on a post christmas diet on the 1st of January. That is digusting. For one, i'll be hungover and if Gillian McKeith is right in saying that 'you are what you eat' I am 3 quarters turkey and the rest biscuits. I imagine that canibals are all the rage after christmas, we probably taste quite nice.
Off topic. Anyway, in the week prior to the diet I set out a really regimented plan. I like order. It's not like OCD but more of, 'i'd better make something organised in my life because my room is certainly not going to cut it' - kinda way. I'm a disorganised person, I leave all essays till 2am the night before it's to be handed in or even sometimes the hour before, if you're lucky. Writing what I need to do down is a serious bonus. Plus I like glittery gel pens - no i'm not a ten year old child, even though I try to be.
I can only diet with my mum. If it was up to me i'd probably just melt on the floor after the first 3 hours of no commitment and cake. But my mum has a ridiculous amount of diet books, they're probably what this house is made of, icing and diet books. Sounds about right. She has an amazing ability to just stick at things even if she hates them; like Zumba. As much as I find it awful my mum goes every week for pure resiliance. I want to be like that. So dieting with my mum is the only way.
Also, diet food is often better than the food I have anyway. I'm not a fan of mash, yet my dad sees it necessary in every meal to have some form of potato. No. Sorry, it's with a roast or nothing. So diets are just full of salads and fruit, which I love and with not a potato in sight.
However, i'm the type of person that gets bored and distracted VERY easily and thats where I fail at the majority of things. After 2 weeks of eating 4 tonnes of celery a day, as soon as the oportunity arises that i'm 'allowed' 100 calories of sweetness, I go a little be mental. Think of face planting into a chocolate cake. Hello me.
We'll see where this leads...
Off topic. Anyway, in the week prior to the diet I set out a really regimented plan. I like order. It's not like OCD but more of, 'i'd better make something organised in my life because my room is certainly not going to cut it' - kinda way. I'm a disorganised person, I leave all essays till 2am the night before it's to be handed in or even sometimes the hour before, if you're lucky. Writing what I need to do down is a serious bonus. Plus I like glittery gel pens - no i'm not a ten year old child, even though I try to be.
I can only diet with my mum. If it was up to me i'd probably just melt on the floor after the first 3 hours of no commitment and cake. But my mum has a ridiculous amount of diet books, they're probably what this house is made of, icing and diet books. Sounds about right. She has an amazing ability to just stick at things even if she hates them; like Zumba. As much as I find it awful my mum goes every week for pure resiliance. I want to be like that. So dieting with my mum is the only way.
Also, diet food is often better than the food I have anyway. I'm not a fan of mash, yet my dad sees it necessary in every meal to have some form of potato. No. Sorry, it's with a roast or nothing. So diets are just full of salads and fruit, which I love and with not a potato in sight.
However, i'm the type of person that gets bored and distracted VERY easily and thats where I fail at the majority of things. After 2 weeks of eating 4 tonnes of celery a day, as soon as the oportunity arises that i'm 'allowed' 100 calories of sweetness, I go a little be mental. Think of face planting into a chocolate cake. Hello me.
We'll see where this leads...
Friday, 6 January 2012
Serenaded
Being serenaded is usually associated with writing your own song to your love and recording it on a tape, yes tape, or performing it in a park or on a beach during a sun set. This is so lovely, serenades are pretty rare, in universal terms, someone should be in charge of making them cool (I may say again, but I don't know if they ever were other than in 1563). Ask Shakespeare, he had all the ladies.
But, I have been serenaded and I'm not going to lie it wasn't the highlight of my life that I quite expected.
After work I needed to get buy a few things for my mum on a bit of an errand. And being in a post Christmas mega diet mode, I decided to walk to my local shopping centre. This is quite usual for me, it's only a half hour and I need feel like I'm doing something good for my body after the bottomless pit of Christmas biscuits.
When I'm by my self I have a strong tendency to talk. Not to anyone in particular, more to myself. Often arguing, most of the time singing. But this causes me to be quite oblivious to the things around me, sometimes I even cross the road without really noticing that I have.
But this occasion brought me out of the daze. As I was walking down a main road an old man in a greyish/muddy tracksuit-jumper combo, peddled towards me on his bike. This is usual, it was a Monday during the morning and everyone knows that an abnormal amount of old people creep out of their houses, safe in the knowledge that the monstrous fountain dwelling youths are at school.
This man was different. Probably drunk, or high. He stopped his bike a few metres in front of me, and began to slur 'i love you' quite loudly but almost with a tune.
I'm not a music critic or music teacher, and I couldn't tell you whether he was in the right pitch. But using my extensive experience as a X Factor viewer, my verdict is that he should not peruse a career in the music industry as a singer or song writer, to put it lightly.
But, I have been serenaded and I'm not going to lie it wasn't the highlight of my life that I quite expected.
After work I needed to get buy a few things for my mum on a bit of an errand. And being in a post Christmas mega diet mode, I decided to walk to my local shopping centre. This is quite usual for me, it's only a half hour and I need feel like I'm doing something good for my body after the bottomless pit of Christmas biscuits.
When I'm by my self I have a strong tendency to talk. Not to anyone in particular, more to myself. Often arguing, most of the time singing. But this causes me to be quite oblivious to the things around me, sometimes I even cross the road without really noticing that I have.
But this occasion brought me out of the daze. As I was walking down a main road an old man in a greyish/muddy tracksuit-jumper combo, peddled towards me on his bike. This is usual, it was a Monday during the morning and everyone knows that an abnormal amount of old people creep out of their houses, safe in the knowledge that the monstrous fountain dwelling youths are at school.
This man was different. Probably drunk, or high. He stopped his bike a few metres in front of me, and began to slur 'i love you' quite loudly but almost with a tune.
I'm not a music critic or music teacher, and I couldn't tell you whether he was in the right pitch. But using my extensive experience as a X Factor viewer, my verdict is that he should not peruse a career in the music industry as a singer or song writer, to put it lightly.
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