This week I was inspired by my wee sister, who is a mail genius, to try out leopard print nails. I’ve always loved the look, but doubted my precision prowess. Well, I finally decided to give it a try & it turns out it’s not hard at all.
My first attempt was so successful that at the first sign of chipping I stripped & did it again.
I am officially hooked on leopard print nails.
Lemonade. I know, everyone is talking, writing & I suppose singing about it. I must confess to not having heard (or seen) the complete album. I’ve sampled some highlights and whilst not a member of the beyhive, I’m excited to hear more. I have no issue with Beyonce’s music (her fur wearing is another matter). I applaud the increased political input in her work. Her support of black & feminist issues is on point. Her artistic viewpoint is increasingly progressive & radical. Which is why, some of her fans retrograde behaviour of late has been particularly hard to take.
Oh, I know fans are fanatical these days. Bey is queen & they worship her. That’s all good, but the reaction to Lemonade & hints that Jay Z may have cheated are down right backwards.
Rachel Roy’s ‘ Good hair, don’t care’ Instagram post ignited smouldering rumours that she was Mr Carter’s indiscretion. The beyhive immediately launched a social media witch hunt. Bee & lemon emoticons appeared en mass on her various pictures & posts. Along with the taunting images came more serious abuse, which inevitably led to her making her accounts private. Today’s tabloids decided that it was in fact Rita Ora would had done the dirty with Beyonce’s spouse. She too was lavished with the same treatment.
Perhaps you think those involved in infidelity deserve what they get. Maybe you feel betraying Bey is worthy of a good hounding, but wait, what about Jay Z? If he did in fact step outside his marriage surely he’s where the hive loyal should turn their scathing tongues? He’s the one who made vows & a child with Yonce. Why does the arse who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants get a pass?
The answer, as is so often the case, the patriarchy. Woman are still being conned into feeling that other chicks are the enemy. Our old boy’s club society wants it that way. It’s much better for the status quo if smart, talented women view each other as the competition. Stop letting yourself be suckered by the tired old trope that cheating men can’t help themselves, but cheating women are whores. It’s such a dangerous road to go down. It ultimately leads us to rape apology & the dismissal of female sexual agency. That’s not what we should be teaching our daughters. The bottom line is the Carter’s marital woes are not my business, but women tearing each other down is.
Cheating is cruel. I’m not loving anyone who participates. But, ladies, come on. Stop beating on your own whilst letting men off easy. We’re better than this.
One of my favourite things is finding one off or limited pieces. If I can unearth them for pennies, even better.
It was therefore swell to find this adorable bag in a random wee shop. It stocked the strangest selection of items, but amongst them was this little gem.
I have a feeling it may be the most perfect bag ever made. All those colours, the embroidery & pom poms! I was helpless when faced with those pom poms; I had to take this little one home. In addition to its obvious beauty it has a cross body strap that actually fits over my boobs & despite its diminutive appearance it holds all my essentials.
I have long hankered after a cameo brooch, but my search has proved elusive. That is, until today, when I stumbled upon this perfect specimen. The lavender tones are so unusual & I am completely taken with the art noveauish quality of the girl’s hair. Not bad for 50p. It’s amazing what you can discover if you shuffle through a basket of plastic crap in a charity shop.
And if I needed confirmation that my trawling skills were on point, Bronan gave it. This is the face of a cat who wants my brooch.
The lovely people at Hotter Shoes & Taking Shape invited me to an event this week. I was pretty sore on Wednesday & wasn’t sure I would make it, but I am so glad I pushed myself.
Taking Shape is a company I had a little experience with as I checked out their stores when I was in Oz. I hadn’t had a chance to peruse their Glasgow store, so their collection was all new to me. The store is a pleasure to shop; clearly zoned, neat, sleek & lovely big changing rooms. The staff are knowledgeable & refreshingly chirpy. So far, so good.
Regular readers will be aware that I have a penchant for colour. Taking Shape gets a big tick in the brights box. They also easily check off size, fit & variety. There are enough daring pieces to keep a weirdo like me happy, but also plenty of staples. The arrival of a little sun has me drawn to vivid yellows & sheer fabrics, so this top was perfect. I snapped it up & wore it the very next day.
The accessories are also on point. Their range of bold statement necklaces really pleased me. I will definitely be back to stock up.
I have to give big props to the PR team who were a dream. Special mention also goes out to the my fellow bloggers who were charm itself & rocking some amazing looks.
Oh & of course a peek at how I wore my sunny new piece.
I really love the cut at the bottom.
Top – Taking Shape
Skirt – Forever21
Stay tuned for my Hotter adventures.
* Items have been gifted, but opinions are my own.
It’s been a fairly rough week filled with more Dr’s than I would have liked. There were some amusing moments & cool snaps, hence I am sharing my hospital expoilts.
It all started last Monday with a pain in my lower back. By Tuesday it had spread around my side & all over the right side of my stomach. The pain had intensified to such an extent that I had to see my gp. Dr suspected possible upper uti infection, but wanted to rule out pancreatitis,so off to the hospital I was sent. Not, however, before I had to pee in a tiny bottle & was given two injections in my bum. One was for pain, which had no effect. There other for nausea, which was entirely counter productive as shortly after leaving the surgery I began impressively vomiting.
I founf myself waiting to be assessed in hospital. For some reason I was surrounded by babies & their parents watching me repeatedly throw up into those horrid little cardboard hats. Once again it’s a round of peeing in various receptacles & being prodded by numerous medical personal. The result being I was admitted with probable kidney infection.
After another two injections in my arse (their is no dignity in being ill) my behind was now feeling a little tender & turning some vibrant colours. My nurse was unable to get any blood despite trying both arms & hands. A Dr was then summoned to attempt to draw blood. Much to my embarrassment the Dr who arrived is already known to me. I had a fling with him many years before. So, I find myself lying in a hospital gown, groaning whilst a very attractive surgeon who has seen me naked pokes me with needles. Only I could end up in the medical care of an old shag.
Anyway, blood is finally collected & kidney infection confirmed. I stay in hospital for a further day 1/2 for Iv anti biotics & pain relief. On Thursday I walk free & consider my ordeal over.
I spent the rest of the week pacing around as kidney pain is worse at rest. I tried my best to rest & even ventured out with my sis at the weekend. We were treated to perfect spring weather. It felt good to be out in the fresh air surrounded by new blooms.
As this week began all felt well. I was still a little tender, but otherwise much better. I probably over did it catching up with house work & errands on Monday. Meaning that by dinner time I was exhausted & needed to have a nap. And, that’s the last thing I remember until I came round on the hall floor in dark. My face hurt & I was very confused, but otherwise unharmed. My first instinct was just to go to bed, but after consultation with my sister I realised I had to return to hospital. Que scans, X-rays & a night of observation. Luckily I only have a mild concussion and a bashed up nose. I had no encounters with long lost lovers and I pray I have reached my hospital limit for quite a while.
Oh & my squinty nose is real sexy.
I took a little trip to see my friend & her lovely boy on Friday. She lives in Musselburgh, which is a seaside town outside Edinburgh. I love any excuse to get close to the sea & Lisa (and James) is a fabulous reason to go anywhere.
It was chilly & wet when I set off so I employed my new beret to keep my head warm. I don’t wear many hats as I don’t usually look great in them. Thus, I was surprised to discover that berets are totally my thing.
I was also chuffed with the new dress I donned. I’ve had my eye on this for ages and finally snapped it up in the sale a few weeks ago. The cat print is purrfect & the colour matches my eyes.
Dress – Voodoo Vixen
Cardigan – Monsoon
Beret – House of Bruar (gift)
I really love the neckline on this dress. The fit is superb & the large pockets are a dream.
I can only share the mirror selfie as I had so much fun with my east coast chums that I forget to get any pictures. However, I did remember to snap some photos of our escapades.
(That feline beauty is Bronan’s sister, Mena)
I have been neglecting my nails of late. Mostly because spoons have been in short supply. I don’t really feel myself with naked nails, so was relieved to carve out some manicure time on Sunday evening.
I really wanted something vibrant & feisty. I think I achieved the desired look.
I’m now in love with my fingers.
I have always walked on the weird side of the road. From a young age I decided the best option was just to embrace my quirkiness & roll with it. It’s a strategy that has served me well. Sure, I still get stares from strangers & folk making snap judgements about me, but fuck them.
I’ve found that confidence in strangeness is the key. Don’t be apologetic or hide, boldness is the way. No matter how odd your views or look there are always like minded folks & the Internet guarantees you can find them. However, you don’t have to section yourself into a little pocket of society. I have friends of all varieties, many don’t really get a lot of my choices, but they support them nonetheless. A frequent occurrence for me is having newish friends confess that their first impression of me was ‘weird af’, but on further inspection they found they liked me. My point is eveyone is entitled to be exactly who they are; people will love you despite or because of your differences.
So, what better way to celebrate my irregularities than celebrating some classic eccentric chicks?
I’m going to kick off with my 11yr old hero, Blossom. Blossom was my fashion icon. I had several floppy hats that I pinned at the front with ridiculous badges. More than that, I felt a kinship with the character. She was smart & quirky & frequently teased by her ‘cooler’ older brother. I think Blossom was my first hint that being weird could be amazing. I’ll always love her for that.
You can’t talk about weird characters without bowing down to Pheobe Buffay. Pheobe was me. She was the veggie, hippie, black sheep of her group. The other ‘Friends’ were continually puzzled by her, but loved her anyway. Moreover her outlandish ideas often held a needed wisdom. Pheobe walked her own path, which was exactly my plan. As a teenager it was so affirming to see a woman like that on the biggest to show in the world.
Ok, so I’ll preface this with saying that Lena Dunham is problematic in a number of ways. I can’t stand her. Some of that bullshit filters through, but there are aspects of Hannah that I really like. I arrived at the Girls’ party very late. I have only recently delved into it & was of course sucked into a box set binge. Yes, all of the characters can be hideous and by the end I’m not sure I actually liked any of them. Hannah, though, had something. She is odd. She makes some horribly bad choices & let’s face it, she gets annoying. Her whiny privilege is not something I aspire to. Even, so, I like elements of her character. I adore her body positivity. She wears whatever she wants & she gets naked whenever the notion takes her. She’s a writer, she struggles with her mental health & she loves a very kooky man. Most of all she is honest (perhaps sometimes too honest). She’ll talk about scary feelings & taboo topics alike. Shame is not a thing to be tolerated in Hannah’s world & I’d like to see those features in more (& better written) main characters.
Now it’s time for ultimate 90’s weirdo, Daria. God, I still love her. Daria is everything. She’s cynical & witty; she shuns all conformity. Fashion is irrelevant, popularity a non issue. Daria & her equally cool friend Jane live in their own world. She finds her cheerleader sister ridiculous. Her come backs are top level. She even has a romance with an older musician dude without altering herself one bit. For your supreme snark & flawless misandry, I salute you Daria.
I’ve had a quiet week blogging wise as I’ve been a busy bee in other areas of my life. I wanted to do a quick outfit post before the weekend takes over. Dinner with my darling bestie and offered the perfect opportunity to get dolled up.
Red lips & they’re real mascara always give me a confidence boost. Tonight I also rocked a velvet tassled dress & let’s face it, it’s impossible not feel splendid in such a creation.
Dress – AsosCurve
Scarf – Gift
Lips – Burberry
Glasses – Red or Dead
Food was so so, cocktails were abysmal, but the company was top class. Which just goes to show that all is well with a best friend in tow.
Have a great weekend.
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I’m having one of those days when life seems determined to subvert my plans. It is, to say the least, infuriating. So, I thought I would vent my frustrations by having a little bitch about the smaller things that get my goat.
If you’re wearing anything with a wizard on it, you might want to stop skip this bit. I’m afraid when I see an adult reading a Harry Potter book I have to suppress the urge to scream. Those stories are for kids. Read a grown up book. Given what we’ve subsequently discovered about the author, supporting her work at all is gross.
Staring. Stop it. It’s just basic manners. I know I’m fat. I know my boobs are enormous. My clothes are weird, but continued looks won’t alter that. Yup, I have scars & piercings & tattoos. Stop gawking. Oh & whilst we’re on the topic quit nudging your mates & whispering too. I see you & it’s rude. Seriously, just stop it.
Carol Vorderman. She’s not a genius. She’s not even likeable. She does morally questionable adverts & her face just annoys me. I don’t have very good reasons for my hatred. I just can’t stand her. No more woman. No more.
Gin. It’s horrid, but only recently has it made my list. Some marketing dept somewhere clearly decided they needed to make gin cool & man alive have they been successful. It is now almost impossible to find a cocktail that doesn’t have gin lurking in it. Events have gin only bars. Everyone in the bloody world suddenly lists it as their favourite tipple. It’s taking over. Go away gin. I don’t want you.
I’m going to wrap this up with my current top level pet hate. Basic bitches. I think my interpretation of this phrase may be slightly different from other folks, so I shall explain. What really winds me up is chicks whose understanding of feminism & womanhood is peripheral. The type of person who doesn’t think trans women are ‘real women’. They love a bit of slut shaming & feel gender roles must be adhered too. This is a girl who conforms, they will mock anyone who dares to be different. Solidarity is not their watch word. They’re basic & more often than not, they’re bitchy AF.
(I’m amused by this meme because Judy can be basic herself)
Disclaimer : If you’re a gin swilling, relative of Carol Vorderman, some of this post is just a tongue in cheek rant.
* Vorderman gets some props for her recent political discourse, but my illogical dislike remains.
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Something in the way she moves... 
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