Go Team Glitter! Woo Hoo!

This to me, is quite a milestone. Just 12 little weeks ago this little blog wondered if there was anyone out there. It seems there was. Today marks 10,000, TEN THOUSAND!! visits. You’ve learned a lot about what can happen when I step into my local, ‘HQ’, be it good, bad or downright disgraceful. And what I use to try and keep my ahem, youthful looks after a complete bender.  You all know by now that in HQ I swill a lot of bourbon and gain many an insight while going outside for a lovely fag. You’ve got quite a good idea about the kind of music I like [Frosty The Snowman aside!] as well as plenty of other things I like and dislike. There have been tales of woe and tales worth smiling about again and again. You’ve also met the rest of Team Glitter, AKA Molly & Fizzy. Oh, and I’ve also thrown a few opinions in here as well, just for the hell of it!

Thanks soo much for all your visits and comments, it’s great to get them.

So don’t be shy, y’all come back here again real soon y’hear!

It’s Friday! It’s Frosty!

You know it’s nearly Christmas when this song tinkles from a nearby radio or overhead shop speaker! Is it in your head yet? Is it in your head yet?… ‘Frrroooooossssssstttyyyy the Snowman.. was a jolly happy soul….’ I can remember the first time I sang this song was when I was with about 20 others, knee high to a grasshopper, yet I felt all grown up having moved out of ‘Babies’ and was now in ‘High Infants’!

Ah, I’ll admit it – I like this song! It’s all tingly and jingly and far more upbeat than that droning ‘Little Drummer Boy’ piece of crap, Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum indeed! And a blast of Frosty, be you trailing through 100 shops with 200 more presents to buy is bound to entice a little shoulder bopping.. ok, for the first 3 or 4 times anyway!

Saggy Old, Baggy Old

Saggy, baggy, pink and white, furry, cuddly, wise and pretty much my best friend. I hearted Bagpuss and I know that Bagpuss hearted me each time I pressed my nose up against the telly to get a better view of what he, the gorgeous Madeline, Gabriel the Frog, Professor Yaffle and the naughty scamps The Mice were getting up to.

I think if I was asked, I’d have to agree with a recent poll that put Bagpuss as the Favourite Kids TV character of all time. There was something very assuring about the manner in which Bagpuss took control from his cosy looking cushion. What Bagpuss says, goes!

I was very jealous of Emily. Not only did she have a proper Lost & Found shop [where the mice repaired all matter of things during the night] but she had lovely hair too. I watched Bagpuss for years before we had our first cat and he may just have been the reason why I wanted one! *Sigh* I really wanted to go visit Emily’s shop. Imagine what it would be like to walk through the Victorian door, the little bell would ring and there’d be all types of goodies on display. But you couldn’t just buy stuff from Emily’s shop. Oh no, it wasn’t that kind of shop. It was like a little holding area for dollies that had fallen from the baskets of bicycles or toy trains that rolled a bit too far down the hill and ended up going around one too many corners – for Emily, thoughtful and Good Samaritan that she was, just minded all the toys until the day that their owner stumbled across them, sitting all shiny and repaired to perfection in the loveliest shop in the world.

Suit Yourself and I’ll Do The Same

So, you all know I’m feeling a bit ‘meh’ about Christmas – or rather the whole having to  buy presents thing. I made a decision and my credit card sat on my desk in work for about 3 hours because I ended up being so busy that I didn’t even get to order stuff from the ISPCA yesterday. And because it ended up being so busy, the atmosphere in the office became a ‘Lookit! This has to be done and done now!’ type thing. To clarify, going from having a few to absolutely loads of things to do at the same time doesn’t phase me, I’m well used to that. Throw in a couple of narky so and so’s that aren’t doing their jobs, 2 people constantly on hold for me to add fat to the fire, a lazy and oversensitive colleague and the fact that I’ve just started a new job and well, I just wanted some peace and quiet  after having to throw a bit of weight around all afternoon, a bit of EastEnders and nods of sympathy from Molly & Fizzy.

I walked in the door to 100 questions, I got annoyed all over again at some people not doing their job, questioning my judgement and generally being a pain in the ass about having  to actually work for a living.. and I also ended up with a totally burnt pizza and only seeing about 5 minutes of EastEnders.

I’m jumping subject slightly, but bare with me  – last Sunday, in HQ, ok? I came back from having a lovely fag and The Glamorous Blonde asked me to name a Transvision Vamp song. ‘Yeah, Glitter, you generally know this stuff’, echoed My Other Dad, her husband.

With barely a shrug of my shoulders the words ‘Baby, I Don’t Care’ flowed out of my mouth, ‘Wendy James?’. ‘How does it go?’ asked My Other Dad. Now, I did pause here cos, well, I’m no singer. No way will you get me volunteering for the SingStar at an impromptu after pub session! And then one of the guys came racing over to us, mic/lighter in his hand, ‘BABY, I DON’T CARE! Told you I’d remember in the end!’ And away with him, delighted with himself.

The Glamorous Blonde asked what Wendy James looked like,

‘Platinum blonde hair, into guitar’ [Slight raising of the eyebrows]

‘Heavy black eye make up’ ['Oh really Glitter?]

‘Quite blingy.. pale pink lippy.. bit of leather..’ ['God! Ye could be describing someone else, Glitter!]

I ‘Whatever’ed’ them, smiled and took a gulp of bourbon, that song went on loop in my head for ages and I realised that I need to go dancing very soon!

Christmas Blank

I haven’t really started my Christmas shopping yet and what’s more, I truly can’t muster the energy to. Now, before you think I’m going all Bah! Humbug on ye – I’m not! It’s just that I hate shopping at the best of times so it’s particularly difficult for me to get enthused about battling my way into town, trying to make enough space for myself to walk from A to B, without having to tense every muscle I have in order to prevent being knocked over by some aul wan determined to get to the shop till before me!

Now, I love Christmas and we’ve always had great times with family, laughing, singing, drinking, chatting around various tables and in various rooms of various houses, catching up and making merry like the real spirit of Christmas should be – it’s just the thought of having to seek out, choose, buy and then transport a rake of presents by the 25th of December that sends shivers of dread down my spine.

I was in town about a fortnight ago and after my specific mission to go into shops A, B and C to get the specific things I was out of, I surprised myself by deciding to actually go into a shop that I didn’t need to. In there I saw something I thought my sister would like, picked it up and bought it, only a small token type thing. Then it dawned on me that I shouldn’t just give it to her when I next see her as I remembered that Christmas was indeed just around the corner and so I’ve kept it to give to her on Christmas Eve at our traditional family exchange of pressies. Result! Mind you, I’ve yet to get her main pressie and she hasn’t helped at all by constantly responding, ‘I don’t know Glitter.. sure just get me anything.. I don’t know what I want this year..’ Gah!

Mom has been more forthcoming with telling me what she wants but I still have to go get it and it’s kind of the same with Dad. But she wasn’t impressed earlier when I bemoaned the fact that I didn’t even want to go pressie shopping and truth be known, I couldn’t care less about scraping the whole giving and receiving thing altogether. I was told I had ‘All weekend! Even just all day Saturday would do it, get everything at once etc’. Balls to that – I had to bite my tongue really hard and not remind her that on my Saturdays I stay in bed late getting over the night before, go watch rugby or football, come home to a warm up glass of vino and then get ready to go out all over again. Eh hello? Give up all that for most of the day getting battered and bruised in shops with snippy SA’s and only the crap or highly expensive things left? No way, Hose.

I’ve had a chat with Molly and Fizzy though. Fizzy’s 4 month old collar is in perfect condition. She told me that I could get her a new one if I wanted but that she likes her current blue one and doesn’t want to put me under any pressure. Molly got a new collar at the same time and what with all the jumping into everything, climbing trees and bushes etc that she does, her’s is all raggy but I’ve assured her that her new one will be just as cute as the daisy one she has on now. Is it really any wonder that I’m thinking of making a little hidey hole just for the 3 of us under the Christmas Tree and not coming out until dinner is ready?

Shirt Off Your Back

What a busy weekend! I hadn’t a minute to do anything mundane like laundry or food shopping because I was too busy out enjoying myself! After a late Thursday night, Friday night had been pencilled in for quite some time – one of the Managers in HQ had organised a bit of a football themed night. He got hold of a copy of the [in]famous Ireland V England game from Euro ‘88 and what with spots prizes etc, it was being billed as a bit of an Evint!

The place was packed! Packed! As when he showed the 1990 World Cup Ireland V Romania game last August, people arrived in retro jerseys with their voices all warmed up for a bit of a chant. Now, there’s no need to relay what happened in that game, except that barely 10 minutes in there was a cheer that was most likely heard in Lansdowne Road itself!
So, let’s move on to the spot prizes. Where it really gets interesting! Tickets were handed out, free and for gratis as it’s all a bit of craic and sure the drinks companies always cough up a few freebies. First ticket out was mine! A bottle of Jameson, woo hoo! Fourth ticket out belonged to the guy-who’s-making-me-smile and he became the proud owner of a bottle of Chilean Red.
Then the serious stuff – the draw for the signed football shirts! Now, I was either in the ladies or outside having a lovely fag when the tickets were being sold – a fiver each, all of the money going to Cancer Research, good cause, etc – as when I returned, there were two tickets on the ledge beside our drinks, the guy being the purchaser. The first shirt was a goalie’s one, signed by Packie Bonner and wasn’t one young fella sitting by the window delighted when his number was pulled out! I was then asked to draw the ticket for the outfield Ireland jersey, signed by the current team – nice prize, eh? So, I dug deep, had my fingers on a few different tickets, chose one, handed it to the barman and walked back towards my drink.
The number was called out and I was filled with this feeling of ‘OMG! That sounds familiar.. that number sounds very familiar’. Sure enough, I’d pulled out, by total chance, one of our tickets! Oh the shame! I insisted that the guy collect the shirt and I squeezed myself into the nearest corner.
Between the bottles and the shirt, we’d cleaned up! We were both delighted! He handed me the shirt for safe keeping and I promptly shoved it into my bag.
We decided to celebrate in HQ 2 and so off we went. I walked up to one of the Managers I know and asked to see the Champagne Cocktail menu. This was greeted with a sense of shock by the guy and a smile by the Manager. ‘Eh.. Glitter? Where are ye going ordering Champagne Cocktails?’. My reply was simple – ‘Where’s the signed shirt?’. Then he copped on – ‘Ah no! Ah shite! Right! What cocktail do you want? Go on then’. Several Mimosas later I was still reminding him that posession was nine tenths of the law.. hehe… Oh, I was having great fun!
Now, I’m not really sure how it happened or what led up to it but basically, he said he’d pay for a weekend away if I gave him the shirt. Wha? Yeah, really. He even confirmed it when sober the next day, twice. Thing is, he really wanted the shirt and I was going to give it to him anyway! I jokingly, having waaay too much fun with this by now, kept the shirt in my bag and even took it home with me the next day. ‘Until the flight tickets are in my hand! Then we’ll do a swap!’. He even agreed to that. Woo hoo! Barcelona here I come!

Romeo’s On Fire!

… and he’s not the only one! Where do I start? Well, it’s Friday, always a good place to start! I’m a week into my new job and it’s going great, really great. great boss, great colleagues, great shopping centre right on the doorstep… I’m now living a kind of bi-coastal lifestyle [Whitney Port's not the only one you know!]. I’ve a bit of a commute to get to work but I’m going to spend Monday to Wednesday nights in my parents house which brings my travelling time down to feck all on those days and I’ll still have my own place to go back to and get up to all kinds of devilment in over the weekend! Woo and Hoo! There’ll be plenty more tales from HQ in the not too distant future so! And! And! I’ll see Molly and Fizzy loads each week too! result! And I have a date tonight! Even better!
I just feel that nothing can get in my way right now. I’m a proper Smiley McSmile!

Tree-mendous News!

Oh Boy, Oh Boy, Oh Boy! Our Christmas Tree is being delivered today! That’ll mean it’s officially Christmas when it, and the 1million decorations of all types, shapes and sizes are put up in various rooms around the house. I’m excited – can you tell?

Now, when I say ‘our house’, I mean my parent’s house. If I attempted to hang anything more than 2 baubles and some tinsel in my little shoebox, I’d have to move everything else out. However, each year I overcome that disappointing little fact when I hear that Mom has been busy up ladders, digging up some soil to steady the tree pot [again] and doing lots of standing back, admiring, switching of baubles on to more prominant branches etc and am ultimately there to sympathise when the annual battle with fairy light bulbs commences.

Over the years our tree has gone from artificial [we had a white, white glittery one], to real shedding to real non shedding. The decorations have gone from 10 coloured balls in a tube for £2 with the obligatory luminous tinsel to the posh bows and wooden carvings – obligatory luminous tinsel still playing a huge part though, Christmas simply isn’t Christmas without a bit o’ tinsel! There were paper chains that I made and coloured in after I’d sellotaped them together [where did Blue Peter get crepe paper and double sided sellotape back then?]. There was a robin with wire through his feet so he could be held onto a branch [poor thing!] but he lost one then a second eye and one year I think we just let him rest in peace on the floor when he couldn’t stand up anymore. There was a very sleepy angel that had a halo and wings and everything – I think her halo slipped and she wasn’t allowed back into the house. The pretty angel lasted much longer, but as she spent her time on top of the tree she was out of reach of any low flying distractions. But for the last few Christmases the decorations have been getting posher and posher; all colour coordinated carved from cherry or maple trees by ancient woodsmen that had a deep and meaningful relationship with the children in the next village, all of whom are either deaf, blind or both and to whom the bulk of the exhorbitant price tag goes to in order to further their education. Whatever.

Although… a few years back I started a tradition of buying a nice, cute, different, maybe dare I say kind of posh decoration for the tree myself and bringing it home on Christmas Eve. Last year [abandoning the 'posh'], I acquired 2 lovely furry dog decorations that in fairness, weren’t the most attractive but were in aid of Guide Dogs for the Blind. I was distraught when I found them behind a chair only a few weeks back still in their wrappers! Apparently they ‘didn’t go with the rest of the ‘nice’ decorations! I was not impressed. So the deal this year is that I add to the collection as normal only if Mom puts the 2 little dogs on the tree. Now, here’s hoping she doesn’t realise that I threw the annoying, singing fecking lights-a-flashing- all- around Santa that she loved to torment us with in the bin as soon as last year’s decorations came down!

Chaos V Champagne

Now, I’m the type of girl that likes her nice things.. but I won’t spend all day looking for them. I kinda know what I want and the scientist in me always falls back on the fact that the quickest way to get from A to B is in a straight line. So, I don’t tend to faff around or ‘browse’ as some people might put it, when I’m on a mission. I found myself in the situation whereby I needed new foundation and powder, I couldn’t risk totally running out and scaring various people/ dogs/ young children by going without. I had to face up to the inevitable and make my way to the MAC store.

I was in the door and a glittery something caught my eye, I say a glittery something because I didn’t get to move any further towards the product, a thing in a shrug, baker boy cap and too much hairspray jumped in front of me. I’ve plenty of used bottles and powder compacts so I thought I might go all green and trade them in for a new lippy. After what felt like an age standing, waiting for the girl with the questions and the questionable lip liner to get out of my way, I realised that between her and the 100 brush-wielding girl that actually worked there, I could be in for a very long wait. I literally goose stepped my way over to the foundation stand, thinking that if I spotted a square couple of inches where no one else was standing I should grab them very quickly. I stood and waited until someone that clearly worked for MAC came close [they're easily spotted - eyes looking past you in case someone who might be spending more comes into view, more make up on in that one day than you've ever owned in your entire lifetime].

A tall, floaty, earthy, natural type drifted towards pair of heavily lined glittered eyes with too much bronzer and very arched eyebrows, complete with highlighted cheekbones, dripping with gloss lips girl appeared out of nowhere and was suddenly towering over me trying to convince that she did indeed want to make it seem as though she wasn’t on a production line but there to help. I just cut to the chase – ‘NW15 Select with SPF and NW15 powder to go with, please’. She nearly decapitated me with the speed that she cast my decisive and obviously not stoppping to spend more money than just on those two products self aside, ready to pounce on someone wanting a total makeover, ‘Just tell the girl at the till that XYZ helped you today *fake smile*’.

I tried to go to a nice place while the 12 people in front of me in the queue grappled with bags, looked for purses or credit cards and indeed, thought it funny and or embarrassing that they couldn’t remember their pin numbers. Simply too long later; Smile. Just these. XYZ. No bag. Grand. Thanks – I was free! And I think I took my first breath since walking into that particularly chaotic corner of Brown Thomas.

I think the word is ’serendipity’ when things all become clear and find a way of working themselves out; I walked at pace to get away from the MAC madness, slowed down to get a squirt of Hypnose from the Lancome counter and kind of drifted over to the Aveda counter. I found myself standing in front of two products I couldn’t decide between. The smiley, unobtrusive girl told me that she was nearby if I needed any help. Then she told me that even if I didn’t need any help, that she’d be more than glad to pour me a glass of champagne while I was there. Only when it was in my hand did I believe that it had happened. I sighed, smiled, took a sip and started a conversation about hair products that led to, well, led to a hundred different subjects. And I did aquire some more Aveda along the way.. there was no production line, no moving quicker than necessary, it all felt lovely and ‘gift wrapped’, albeit on the slightly fuzzy but with warm feeling side!

T.M.I? Or Not T.M.I?

So, I was in HQ, chatting to a friend, a guy. He’d asked me to bring my laptop [it was a daytime, how nice to not be in work let's meet for a chat type thing] as he wanted to pick my brain about something and in return there was a bottle of wine or several bourbons on offer. Inbetween the problem solving and the chatting, he asked to see my blog that he’d heard about and I, not fazed by this, said ‘Sure! Knock yourself out!’ and went off for a lovely fag while he perused said blog for 10 minutes. When I came back he said some very kind things about it and finished up with ‘Well! You’re out there now! I know a lot more about you after that – and well, fair play to you, you’re very brave telling the whole of cyberspace what you get up to!’

Huh? See, I hadn’t thought about it like that. There’s things I say, but definitely there’s a lot I haven’t shared and won’t be sharing, if you get my drift. I was a little perplexed thinking about what he said later on though. Especially as he kept on mentioning a few posts about a certain Ex of mine that he knows. Hmmm. So, finally covincing myself that I haven’t in fact been pouring out my innermost secrets, I decided that that was just his opinion and maybe he just didn’t know what to expect. And now how do I feel about his comment? Well, I do actually wonder if maybe I’m saying too much from time to time. But in reality, there isn’t anything I say here that I wouldn’t say in the pub to friends of various degrees – even when sober. My Mom keeps saying that I ‘must show her’ my blog sometime and I’ve been kind of avoiding sitting her down in front of it, mouse in hand to learn more about her daughter than perhaps your average Mom needs to know. But then again I’d like to know what she thinks of it. Perhaps I could just print out a few chosen ’safe’ posts for her? My sister kindly increases mynumber of hits on a regular basis and she’s probably learnt a bit more about me, but I’ve learnt stuff about her too from the comments she’s left, so that’s no biggie.

And just recently I gave the address to a guy that’s currently making me smile. He could be reading this right now and knows that I’ve mentioned him. What do I think of that? Hmm again. That’s a toughie, but I can’t un-tell him, he asked for the address, I was caught off guard and gave it to him without really thinking. And he’s already been forced to listen to loads of stories about Molly & Fizzy so a few posts in particular on here aren’t going to scare him at this stage. Ah feckit, now I’m all distracted and have a stupid grin on my face cos he made me laugh loads over the weekend. Let’s just leave it there for now.