Lipstick Let Down

Lipstick Jungle, read my lips; Tiresome. I was eagerly awaiting the start of this show and after two episodes, I don’t think I’ll make it to a third. From the book by Candace Bushnell, this is billed as Sex and the City for girls who already have it all. So, that’s ok then, sure that’s us all covered.
The opening credits, hmm, I’m not sure, Manhattan skyline, this isn’t helping me move on from SATC. Opening few scenes, oh puuurrrlease, hand me a bucket, I think lunch is on it’s way. We’re supposed to see the three main characters as three girls who have it all, are strong, powerful and oozing with sex appeal, what could possibly be wrong, save the odd blip regarding lipstick choice? Well, there’s a heck of a lot wrong with this show.

Smashed into Pieces

There’s a moment in SATC: The Movie, right after Carrie is jilted and she claims that ‘I didn’t break him – maybe he [Big] just didn’t break me’

Through the years, the lets downs and then the making ups, what had changed about their relationship? No one knows if it’s forever so do you have to change to stay together? Or can you remain you, and the love of your life simply loves you for being you? Forever.

What about compromise? Isn’t that what we’re told is at the heart of a good relationship? How do you compromise and remain true to you? Maybe if someone understands you enough and cares enough, they get what big a deal a serious compromise actually is for you.

But then flip that around. Why wouldn’t you want to compromise in a relationship? If you love this person, you want to see them happy – what’s an afternoon trailing around a car boot auction when you know how excited finding an original Clash single on vinyl will make him?

And then there are the perks of being one half of Mr & Mrs Smile! He’s happy, that makes you happy and you spend the night making each other happy, if you get my drift. Breakfast in bed becomes a whole new thing!

But if a compromise is too much, it leads to a big old ball of nasty festering. THAT can become the reason you start to buy the brand of toothpaste you like, then you arrange to meet your friends, the ones he doesn’t like, maybe the stolen looks at someone else to make him jealous are a step too far. Before you know it, you expect everything just the way you like it and that’s a one way ticket to On My Own Street, Singlesville.

I’d like to think that I can compromise. In fact I know I can. It’s just that I haven’t met anyone I want to compromise that much for! And at the moment I’m quite happy residing at On My Own Street because really and truly, I’ve been sufficiently under whelmed by any invitations to live at Coupled Up Avenue, Smugtown. So far.

To Make Up or Not To Make Up

Oooooh the joy of finding up a little pot of sparkly fabulousness! At the make up counter, you spot it. It’s there, waiting to become a dusting of colour on your eyelids. Or it’s in a perfect tube, one twist and the rich colour becomes a ‘kiss me now’ stain upon your lips.

You try to drown out the SA telling you how great it would be on you, swat her away when she tries to distract you with ‘other’ colours – pah! Don’t stop me now! THIS was what I was looking for. Come home with me you gorgeous coming together of all that I want that’s also neatly encased in a travel friendly holder. Once home it’s drop everything for the unveiling, the opening. Like a butterfly coming out of the caterpillar’s shadow, this slick of lipstick will transform me! Like the first falling of Autumn leaves, one sweep of this eyeshadow will form a comforting blanket around my eyes.

The beauty and power of a perfectly made up face is one not to be taken for granted. The air of confidence, the ‘look at me’ attitude, the flutter of perfectly coated eyelashes…  Why oh why, would this not excite you? When all else fails, a sleek coat of lipstick and a flick of coiffed hair is all a girl needs to get back on track.

Sex with an Ex. Out Damn Image, Out!

 

I was standing at the bar in HQ, bit of banter with the barman who knows my order. Then I turn, drink in hand and practically fall into and over the EX. Not the ‘big ex’, just the last ‘ex’. I clocked his smile and I smiled back while trying to ensure the glass stayed in my hand and remember if I still had any lipstick on. ‘How are you?’, I beamed. ‘How are YOU?’ asked him with the smile back. ‘I’m great [you’re only ever ‘great’ when an ex asks] Howareyou? [smile, I asked again]. So how is work I mean?’. After a brief exchange and with perhaps too much of a ‘breezy’ air à la Monica in ‘Friends’, I waltzed away wondering if he actually had more to say when we were going out.

 

Hours and several bourbons later, my mouth as dry as biscuit tin with nothing but a packet of Rich Tea for company, I tried to blink it away! Out! Out NOW! The vision before me was a shagalicious 70’s type bedroom with me and the ex getting hot and heavy to Number 47 of the Karma Sutra! OhMyGodandnowI’vejustwokenup. Well, I think I’ve woken up.. It’s dark. There’s no noise. Reaching where I don’t really want to reach, I conclude that it’s just me in my little bed. The light confirms it before I can exhale.

Bloody Nora! Eh, hello Subconscious – WHY did YOU want to have sex with the ex tonight? I certainly didn’t! I’M OVER HIM, REMEMBER? And for the record, it was me that wanted out of that particular dalliance, but that didn’t stop me being annoyed and surprised at him reverting back to being a 5-year old when we broke up.

Then I couldn’t get back to sleep. Tch! Why did you try to pull that one, Subconsious? I soo don’t want to get back with him! It was months ago. I waited until daylight before hitting Google – well, I don’t want to appear a complete loon, even to myself. And I found it somewhere that dreaming about sex with an ex means that you ARE actually over him. That’s good enough for me. NEXT!

Kreepy Knightley; Eat More, Pout Less

I. Just. Can’t. Stand. Her. Every time I see her concave body tightly stitched into some designer red carpet gown I just want to force a tub of Ben & Jerry’s down her gob. And then keep it shut, so she can’t do that pouty thing that seems to come oh so naturally to her.

 

Viewed sideways she needs every inch of a huge Victoriana hat from her by what must be vast collection by now in order to actually have a profile. Viewed sideways, she could easily be mistaken for a rather tall tree with only leaves on top, that’d be her, ahem, cascading curls in reality. The full frontal is a Wes Craven poster in itself! All startled bunny eyes and open mouth; a look practised by, no doubt, oh so many trying to get in the adult film industry.

Close your mouth, Love! Please! And don’t, DON’T open it again if all you’re going to do is moan that you’ve been trying for 10years to put weight on and that people just don’t understand that you’re ‘naturally thin’. Phooey! You are that thin because, perhaps being an actress, you can’t operate a telephone and dial Domino’s. You’re that thin because maybe, maybe the McDonald’s Drive Thro menu confuses you! Or else you’re sorely mistaken that ‘twiglet’ is an attractive look!

 

You’d look so much better if you looked as though you ate more than twice a month. Maybe then you’d be able to close your mouth and not automatically catch some flies and blame the extra calories on an accident.

I need to lie down. You get me so worked up that I can’t even begin to get into what a bad actress you are right now.

Are You There World?…

… it’s me, Glitter. It’s been a long time since Judy Blume penned a similarly titled book and Jeez, I don’t even want to know exactly how long ago that was – but I can confirm that I’d fill a whole library with questions that poor Margaret was a long way from forming. Thinking about it though, getting MY first bra really wasn’t that big a deal. Nor was school, really, nor was my first boyfriend, nor was the first time I was ID’d, not even the first time I had to pay my own rent.

 

It’s funny how things can be so different for different people. I do remember though that a lot about school was about fitting in – I was part of ‘THE Group’ but longed to get to college to do my own thing. There were of course, certain things that nearly everyone did in order to fit in. Did you ever collect ‘fancy paper’? I did and the reality was that most schoolgirls my age had a bedroom that was an outright fire hazard!

Someone would always have an Uncle or Cousin that brought them back some fancy paper from France or America; pink pads of parchment with sparkle in the corner that no one else had a hope of getting, say. So, in order to build up your own collection, that girl became your NBF, you’d swap papers and try to make sure she didn’t do any other swaps and then when it was your turn to be the envy of everyone else, you’d just open it to the highest bidder…

 

I don’t know why I ever started collecting fancy paper and I don’t know why I stopped. Did I grow up and simply cast it aside as childish or did I find something else to put in a box and look at?

I went through a phase of collecting Hello Kitty handbags, thankfully I bypassed collecting STDs and now, well, I just seem to collect bad dates, fabulous shoes but maybe also horrific drunken flashbacks. This blog is something I’ve started. I’ve collected lots of things to talk about. I wonder if I start, when will I stop?