Here Pussy, Pussy

By the time you have read this sentence containing the word ‘cats’, you’ll have reminded yourself how you feel about felines. Love them or hate them, felines have a way of provoking very interesting opinions. Oh, this isn’t a post about how great my cats are, it’s a post about being a cat owner and the reactions I get when this fact is revealed. And mainly how men react to this. Oh it can all kinds of useful to be a cat owner!

There’s this one guy, he’s a friend of a friend and so his unwanted advances are a little awkward. I don’t fancy him in the slightest but I know he’s always going to turn up in the pub when I’m meeting a certain crowd. He buys me drinks without asking, won’t let me buy him one back (the old ‘ownership’ thing which I hate) and it drives me berserk when people assume we’re together. A little time ago he very seriously sat me down, ran his fingers through my hair, looked me in the eyes and sighed, ‘Glitter, you know I really like you, really like you but there’s just one thing.. I just can’t be in a relationship with someone who owns cats. I’m sorry but I hate cats! If there was any other way.. but I just hate cats’. It took all my strength not to punch the air with delight! I paused, tilted my head, looked at him and kind of shrugged my shoulders.. ‘Well, I do own cats and I’ll always want to own cats. That’s just the way it’ll have to be then’ – RESULT!!! Mwahahaha…

I was seeing someone a while ago that lived way out of the city centre. I live in the city centre and while I’m prepared for someone else to pay a cab fare back to their place, I’m not prepared to do a walk of shame the next day that involves a bus journey. Public transport in this case, was easily avoided – ‘I know your place is great and it’s so much bigger than mine but I live just around the corner and I can’t leave the cats all night. They’ll need their supper!’ This was normally met with a ‘Bleeping cats’ muttered under his breath as I waltzed out of the pub. Another result! In fact, this is a line I’ve often used. Why risk going to a place owned by a single guy when you’ve no idea when a half empty tube of Athlete’s Foot cream will appear beside you or how many plates in the cupboard were licked clean and returned, how frightening it’d be to see a crusty nose hair trimmer propped up against the taps in the bathroom or a huge block of mouldy cheese in the fridge complete with teeth marks.

And then there’s the very handy, ‘Look! I have to go home and feed them, how would you like it if you simply had to go hungry?!’ This is often met with an ‘Ok, ok, s’pose..’ If at that point I don’t get a belini or a large bourbon for the road it’s easily prompted with the follow up, ‘They’re little rescue cats, you do remember that don’t you? They had a very hard start in life and probably wouldn’t be alive if someone hadn’t given them a home’ … and I’m back in the game!

Recently my newish boss was trying to suss me out. I simply answered the ‘kids’ question with a polite but firm ‘No’. I had previously mentioned I had cats and after asking their names this prompted the very typical male response of ‘Oh I prefer dogs. Dogs are way better. Cats are.. cats are well.. I don’t like cats’. I relayed to him that while I too very much like dogs, the automatic response from a lot of guys is that it’s great when a dog bounds up to you, all tail wagging and tongue lolling, would you really want something that throws itself at you at every opportunity? Is there not something interesting and clever about how cats will observe from a distance and then make a judgement. If a cat shows you any interest you’ll probably want to know what else is going on in that mind. You might even want to see the cat again just to see if it’ll react in the same way or if it’ll do something different, give away a little bit more. The only way you might see the cat again is if you make an effort to see the cat, if you try to impress the cat to gain some trust. You’ll go back to the cat because over time you learn that it’s worth taking some time to find out about this fantastic creature. My boss was laughing as he said ‘I don’t think you’re talking about cats and dogs anymore’ and he shook his head, sighed, asked if anyone wanted a cup of coffee and realised he’d learned a valuable lesson.

I’m also very aware of the ‘single female with cats’ tag 🙄 . Recently I was told, albeit with a few pauses ‘Not to become one of those, y’know, one of those women with cats’. A bit late I thought as I walked away and made a mental note that this guy probably wasn’t the most articulate and that I could probably practice my acerbic lines on him without too much come back.

So what it comes down to is that I’m a cat owner. It’s that simple. Accept it or don’t, it won’t change a thing. I’d rather be me, with my feline flatmates than the girl who’s cheating boyfriend treats her like a doormat or the bitch that everyone hates or the boring girl in the office whose life revolves around her husband and kids or the girl who will settle for anyone because she’s too scared to be on her own.

That’s My Own Business

So Scarlett Johanssen doesn’t like the fact that naked pictures of her have been leaked onto the internet. She’s even done an American TV interview to say so. She feels that everyone is entitled to their privacy and that includes her. As an A List actress and face [& body?] of many an advertising campaign, you could argue that she is where she is today because of her acting ability to a certain extent but just how many of her millions are down to how she looks?

It’s the classic ‘Look at me, look at me! Don’t look at me, don’t even think about it, where’s my lawyer?’ type of behaviour we’re bombarded with from many a person whose front of camera role is a blurred line between the glitter of an Oscar nominated professional part and a sneaky fag or stolen kiss while on a trip to the supermarket. As an actor, TV presenter, musician etc how do you go about the business of show while maximising your likeability i.e. continuing your popularity and not showing yourself up in embarrassing situations such as puking in the street after a big session or getting caught in a menage a trois with strangers? I think I’d start off by not having naked pictures of myself on my iphone.

There are plenty of celebrities that have never been caught up in  sex scandal, a tale of theft or a misplaced misdemeanor because they play the game correctly and understand the rules. They get the fact that the more exposure you have in your professional life, the more you have to be careful of your private life. This isn’t is any way to say that they don’t have a life, it’s just that they don’t accidentally star in a grainy home made bit of porn or go to the club de jour and drunkenly grab a microphone and a bit of boob. A beach exposure for such celebs is a paddle through the edge of the tide with their kids or date night at their favourite Italian is done with their partner beside them. I have no sympathy for ScarJo, none! If she wants a naked pic of herself to present to a lover she has Mario Testino on speed dial to set it up. If she wants to spice up a long distance relationship, hello Skype! If she wants to get up to all sorts, she has several houses to entertain in and surely she’s learnt by now that a ride in a hotel lift doesn’t have to include Benicio del Toro.

There will always be the ‘Gee, I just didn’t know there was a camera’ type people such as Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian who profit hugely from the fact that little more is expected from them and I abhor such females for letting the side down but when you’re caught out, just call a spade a spade or wait and let the fuss die down, as it will very, very quickly. Getting your PR to arrange a TV interview, shedding a few crocodile tears and banging your expensively manicured hand on a table in defiance at an abominable intrusion when you should’ve known better is not the way to gain more fans.

I did chuckle recently when I read that Hugh ‘Dr House’ Laurie said that most of his underpants are probably stolen from friends bedrooms as no one wants to see him buying  smalls in his local M&S. And he’s right. As one of the best paid actors on TV, I certainly don’t want the image of him holding up a pair of tighty whiteys and comparing them to stripey boxers when all I’m doing is trying to get to the wine section. It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘drop your trousers and bend over’!

So ScarJo, get over yourself, love. You’ve done partial nudity for millions of dollars and are happy for the film to be seen by everyone. You took two pictures of yourself in bed and in your bathroom which are again, partial nudes and you didn’t like that they were leaked. Is it because it’s obvious in both that you took the photos yourself, meaning that you’re now a narcissistic, dirty little girl as opposed to just a sexed up actress? Either way, crying wolf is never the answer.

See the portraits for yourself here

Just Me

Another thing you need to know on this catch up, peeps – and we do need to catch up properly – is that there’s another group of men that have emerged on my horizon. OK, not so much emerged as come out in force lately, step forward and behold, ‘The Flirty Married’. The Flirty Married, FM, are sure of one thing and one thing only and that is that they need you to know that they exist. They don’t need you to know that they’re married, more about that later but they do want you  to find them as fantastic as they ahem, know they are. Irresistible, like.

FM’s either may wear their wedding ring but one thing they won’t ever do is mention their wife or any aspect of their married life. They will always show lots of interest in you – ‘I like your hair\jewellery\top’ (see, classic from guys in a long term relationship, they know they should give compliments) or ‘That’s interesting, you know your stuff’ and they laugh at all the right things. Schooled you see. And then there’s the lingering looks, the way they’ll hold your gaze for just that smidgen too long, the way a guy that fancies you might, for instance. There’s the leaning in to properly hear what you’re saying. The way he’ll order you a drink as though you’re regular drinking partners.

I think the rule goes that if you don’t ask, you don’t tell. Now, it can take a few minutes of conversation, hello top left pocket of jeans, before you twig the ring, granted but the definite flirting can only mean one thing, this guy wants your attention which gives the impression that he wants you as well. The guy who doesn’t wear a ring gives himself away when he jumps a mile and races off to answer his phone. He may or not return but if he does it’s only to say, that he ‘has to go’. Cue roll of eyes and the feeling of a wasted conversation. Thanks for that.

I think it’s because of this that I’ve found myself on the receiving end of a number of FM’s recently. One was wearing his wedding ring the first time I met him. He wasn’t the second, third or fourth time and when he followed me into a bathroom at a party just to check I was ok (‘I’m peeing! Do you mind?!’) I had to say something. I had to ask, ‘Why are you being so touchy feely? Really? You’re married. I don’t need to be a scarlet lady. Why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring?’. He concluded that ‘Yeah I should be wearing it’ so I left him and a potential blow job looking very cosy on the couch. The older guy I mentioned in the post below eventually told me that while he was in a long term relationship but he didn’t live with his girlfriend. Oh well, that’s ok then, dinner on Thursday?

I’m not prepared to be your filler while you pretend to be a single man, thank you very much. If you tell me you’re married and the group of us are having a good chat and a drink, it could be great fun. And sure introduce me to one of your single mates while we’re at it. Or try to chat me up again when you’re single. It won’t be that long now, not the way you carry on.

Results of Mythical Proportions

My hair. Oh my flippin hair. It’s thick, dry and ahem, a bit overprocessed. It’s always been unruly and more akin to tamed straw as over the years I’ve tried to be the one in control. I envy those people that can leave their hair dry naturally after washing with any old shampoo and conditioner and the result is supple, shiny locks that flow in straight lines. Really envy them 😦

I’ve been very good for a number of years, trying my best to reason with my hair based on the ‘I’ll treat you right if you return the favour’ type argument and so I left supermarket brands behind and entered the whole arena of designer cremes and serums. With great results, I have to say! But nothing lasts forever, much as you might be the last to trudge from the best party you’ve ever been to or said goodbye to that love you know you have to leave in the past.

I haven’t abandoned my lovely Aveda and yes, I became a Moroccan Oil convert (ignoring the fact that this is in fact an Israeli produced saviour, hair over politics under time of woe is what I say!) but what to do when all these expensive products run out at the same time and you’re hedging your bets with the end of a cheap shampoo and scrimping on the spendy conditioner?

I’m going to simply tell you that if you need something to tame your unruly locks, look no further than new L’Oreal Professionnel Mythic Oil. This 125ml bottle of fabulousness may just change your life! Enriched with a blend of avocado and grape seed oil, a few drops of this miracle will transform your hair. Run through damp hair, you’ll notice this difference every time you use it. Even my hair became a luscious mane of the softest, most supple and shiny hair I’ve ever had. And remember, blonde hair is hard to get a shine from, I can only imagine the blinding sheen it will give darker hair.

And the best bit? Well, for close to one third of the price of Moroccan Oil, in my opinion you get a similar if not better result. 125ml will set you back only €13.90 from L’Oreal Professionnel salons. Now, I did have a bit of a job to track this baby down in Dublin city centre but I found it in Ultimate Hair & Beauty in the GPO Arcade. Phone L’Oreal on 01 604 5910.

 

Ring of Fear

In order to understand where the basis of this post may lie, you have to know that I recently had a bit of a fling with a younger guy. Much younger. Like 10 years younger.

In my dream, there was me, him and a few randomers, the way random people that don’t even know each other or a girl you were in primary school with and haven’t seen in 20 years pop up in dreams.  And there was a house, a wooden house with a lot of staircases. There didn’t seem to be much chatting but I was definitely agitated.  Someone told me about the theory of rooms and what they symbolise in dreams (different rooms are different areas of your life, surprise surprise and what happens in each are a reflection of what’s going on in your life at the time *yawn*) and perhaps this is why I got the wake up call I needed, no pun intended. This younger guy suddenly appeared in the dream, in the house and he wanted to talk to me. He told me that it was me he wanted.

At this point dear readers, I should point out that in real life this guy has a girlfriend of a couple of months. Judge if you will, but remember, it’s me that’s single, not him and so I should be able to do as I please without threat of the gallows or worse still doomed to spend eternity in Krystle nightclub. And it was a flingette if you will, and we’ve all had those. He seemed very genuine about choosing me over his girlfriend and then got upset. He was going to tell her about us but was dreading it. He apologised he hadn’t told her sooner and then he kissed me. All was going well. Exactly what happened next, I’m not sure but I do remember it was me and my Mom talking in the kitchen and I was all flustered.

‘Look at it! LOOK! OMG! It’s a flipping oval ruby on a gold band engagement ring! Gold! A Ruby! O-V-A-L   R-U-B-Y! Gold! Gah!

Well, if he thinks that’s the type of ring I’d like, well, I’m not sure if he knows me at all! And I DO NOT want to be with a guy that doesn’t know me!’

At that exact point I woke up with a fright. Jesus, Mary and St Joseph! That ring was hideous! Maybe I should turn my attention to single guys only or at least those with good taste in jewellery.

Make Mine A Happy Meal

I got into the taxi and sighed with relief. I had been almost in pain trying to keep my face from scowling over the past few hours and there was also the fact that I was absolutely starving – I had just been at ‘The Meal from Hell’. Pretentious overpriced food, combined with snooty yet inefficient wait staff AND that I was out with work colleagues I didn’t want to spend a second more than necessary with, this had all the hallmarks of uncomfortable dining before we picked out the wine.

I was in a very well known restaurant on Stephen’s Green. My boss was there to pay and the marketing witch was there to try and beat us into enjoying ourselves. It had been her idea, one that was met with rolled eyes and lots of grumbling, asking why did we have to go to dinner with people we barely put up with in work and who we most definitely didn’t want to go to dinner with. Everyone felt the same way, no one wanted to go as it was an unwritten thing that none of us liked each other and just accepted we had to work together. After one person dropped out with a pathetic excuse, the rest of us were told that no matter what we were going and that we were going to enjoy it no matter what. You can imagine how much I was looking forward to this then. Groan.

Sitting in reception, waiting for everyone to arrive set the scene for the uncomfortable silences that were to come. When at our table it started off with the horrible little annoying man, grabbing the wine list and arguing with the boss over which were the best wines and being told that he wasn’t allowed pick any bottle over £60 [this was a number of years ago]. And then the resident alcoholic slimy sales guy announced that he wasn’t hungry and didn’t want anything. The waiter that arrived merely added to the tension with his appalling attitude. Maybe our money wasn’t the same as everyone else’s eating there that night.

Pinchy Pinchy

‘Excuse me, do you have these in a size 6?’

‘Oh.. well, ok then, I’ll try the 5 if that’s all you have. I’ve a few pairs of shoes from this brand and a 5 was grand before.’

So starts My Summer Sandal Saga. I wanted needed a new pair of sandals a few months ago. I’m a bit of a hoarder in terms of clothes and shoes, once I find something I like I’ll wear it forever or until it literally falls apart. I have a certain style, a certain look and I really don’t find much in your average high street that I like, so I grab it with both hands when I do and then hang onto it! Having finally admitting defeat with a pair of fab wedge sandals with a row of black flowers as the single strap, I condemned them to the wardrobe in the sky and needed new ‘everyday’ sandals. You know, ones that would do for work and that I’d still get away with going out if the rest of me was a bit more dressed up.

By chance I happened upon a pair of such sandals in black patent with swishy crossover straps and they were even on sale at half price at a measly €35! What’s not to like about this? But they were the last pair left and they were officially a size smaller than what I normally take. Without so much as a second thought, I said to the sales assistant ‘I’ll take them!’ and next thing, me and my new purchase toddled off. Delighted with myself I was! So much so, I put them on and headed out again to meet friends 5 minutes after I got home. Now, these sandals don’t have much of a heel, maybe an inch and a half, practically flat for someone like me who loves how big, big  heels for the way they make me feel like a giant – I have 5inch Kurt Geigers that bring a tear to the eye. So they wouldn’t hurt, even though they’re brand new, right?

AAAten- shun!

Oh I do like a nice military jacket! I have to say, it’s one of my favourite looks – sharp, edgy jacket with skinny jeans and boots with a heel just begs for a ‘I know I look great’ attitude. Back when I was a teenager in 1842 and not exactly living near Camden Market or the Portobello Road, there was a distinct lack of the kind of clothes I wanted to wear available in Smalltown. I did once resort to buying a man’s blazer in a charity shop and then fashioning epaulets out of gold material and sewing fringing that was actually meant for curtain ties into the kind of thing I wanted. I also managed to somehow find a gold brooch that resembled a type of battlefield medal and I looped some different gold rope-y kind of stuff that I also found in the local haberdashery store between one shoulder and the collar. Oh, I loved that jacket! And you couldn’t really see the sewing stitches unless you were really, really close up!

Nowadays however, Military jackets are pretty much a staple of manys the A/W collection. Oh you young ‘uns don’t know how easy you have it! I particularly like this one, pictured. From Laura Whitmore’s Impulse Bodyspray Collection, available in all A-Wear stores, this jacket ticks all the boxes! Great shape, big shoulders as seen everywhere this A/W, fab button detail and a not to be sniffed at price of just €70!

Wondering where you know the name Laura Whitmore from? Recognise the face? Laura’s currently an MTV presenter – ah, now you know her! – this is her first foray in fashion as the face of the Impluse Bodyspray Collection for A-Wear. I think she looks fab in these pics, mind, you’d need an awful lot of Elnett to keep that hair in place in Whelan’s at 2am on a Saturday night, but I can see many of you trying anyway!

This collection has been available in A-Wear since mid August and Impulse have also set up a ‘street blog’ where you can see pix of the more fashionable among us as they eh, wander down the street! Have a look and who knows, you might be posing for the blog soon!

Ah Crap

Everything I own is my stuff.. right?Just stuff I own. It’s my stuff, not anyone else’s and if I choose to actually put tacky fridge magnets from the town of my parents last holiday destination on display, well, I can stick them wherever I want to! And although it’s gone way beyond a joke at this stage and I don’t even try and refuse them, they’re not like my favourite things in the world, ok? They just make up part of ‘my stuff’, stuff you’ll find in my apartment.

Like anyone else, I can confirm that I’ve lots of ‘stuff’ – you might want to refer to yours as crap. Ok, we all have loads of crap. The crap that sits in a drawer, hangs in a wardrobe, stands on a bookshelf or bathroom shelf. Chances are though, the real crap you have only ever sees the light of day when you’re convinced you’ve spare batteries somewhere, that you’re certain you have a picture of that ugly guy you once dated to compare him to your ex over a bitchy bottle of wine or when you’ve turned the whole place upside down looking for a particular lipstick you know you bought, never wore and now need. There’s also the crap you have kinda on display or at least in the top drawer in your bedroom/ bathroom, the type you know everyone else has but it’s also the type of stuff you shove further out of sight during the 5 secs you have to do a quick tidy up upon arriving home accompanied, if you get me.

It’s a little different from the ‘Me Casa, Su Casa’ situation, it’s more like a ‘My Crap, My Situation – so what? ‘ kind of thing. Put it another way, I’ve loads of books, very varied, from books on iconic magazine covers, to all of Candace Bushnells books, some Erica Jong, the complete stories of Winnie the Pooh, a few Douglas Coupland and an abundance of cat books. Many of the cat books are presents, I may add. I have hard back editions of ‘The Ultimate Cat’ and ‘Tales from the Animal Hospital’ from the BBC series years ago, for instance. Guys aren’t so taken with them, unsurprisingly and they leaf through ‘501 Must See Movies’ or my Brett Easton Ellis instead. Mind you, I’d rather the pisstake comments on my cat books rather than the time I was completely at a loss for words when a new neighbour invited me in for a welcome glass of wine a few years back – I’d never seen so much crap until that evening. Perhaps if I added that it resembled a sanctuary for chintzy china dragons and that floral plate things that were just stuck up against various walls and that this guy, yes guy had added a neon blue, neon blue, strip light around a window and odd looking Russian Doll type ornaments on every surface, you might understand why I was a little dumbfounded. Now, his place was really full of crap! I think what I was able to do was agree that he got great, ahem, bargains at the local auction house and thankfully got out of actually agreeing on how eh, lovely the place was now that he’d eh, done it up.

So.. I have stuff. Stuff.I prefer ‘stuff’. Over the last few years I’ve thrown out loads of crap. You know the kind of stuff. The kind of stuff you know that you don’t need. Really don’t need, even if you might think you might want  it some.. eh.. time in the far off distant future. I’ve thrown out black bags full of clothes [relatively ok looking with jeans 100 years ago] and others just with either knickers [baggy gusset] or socks [mostly single]. I also love doing a big cull of various things that gather, like cards from certain people I now hate, buttons in dainty little envelopes from a swishy boutique when I don’t even know what item of clothing it belongs to. Take out menus! Crappy bits of paper with my horoscope from a day something great happened, cinema tickets, airline boarding cards – I collected loads of them over the last few years but they’re all gone now. Pens with glitter ink [cos they’re actually very hard to read, I’ve always resorted back to a Biro!], they’re all gone. Cat stickers. Beer mats. Hair bobbins even though I hate my hair tied up. Soaps from hotels. Receipts. Sewing kits that only now have turquoise and lemon thread cos I used the 2 inches of black thread it came with but thought I might need lemon thread one day.

So, being very truthful, there was very little I threw out when I was moving. All the crap had been thrown out during various booze fuelled culls after yet another guy had let me down. Honestly. I just have grown up stuff now. I’ve only had grown up stuff for ages now. The tiny Elmo was a present and well, he likes living on the bookshelf… and well, the red ladybird moneybox goes with my red living room… and ok, the purple handbags, especially the one with the flowers aren’t exactly the most practical for actually carrying things around in, given they’re rather small size.. but they go with the main theme of my bedroom…  and em.. ah, you’ve got to give me the Elmo! Everyone needs an Elmo!

Can I Tempt You With… ?

For the past two nights I’ve been risking life and limb to stay alive. Ok, that’s not strictly true but I have been taking a risk by giving in to one of my all time favourite pastimes, eating Jelly Snakes. Jelly Snakes are quite possibly, the most fab, sugar filled, cute yet probably evil, gelatinous creations ever well, created! I had to take a break from eating Jelly Snakes a few months ago. There was a ‘2 For 1’ promotion on in practically every shop I was going into including all the supermarkets and I was stuffing myself silly with bags of, not singular, Jelly Snakes. I knew I was in trouble and so tried to fob them off in a rush of guilt to people in work after I’d purchased.. only to buy more on the way home.

And then I came out in weird hives on my arms and chest. They remined me of the time I was 5 and I came out in hives after eating a whole punnet of strawberries in one go and a few months after that I came out in hives again when I ate half a box of Sugar Puffs – so it wasn’t that hard to put two and two together and blame the Jelly Snake sugar mountain on why I’d suddenly come out in hives again. So, I had to stop eating Jelly Snakes.

This week the same promotion was on again in my local supermarket and I was just too weak to resist. I munched my way through a packet on Wednesday night and then again last night. Oh the shame of not being able to resist chewy, gooey coloured sugar. But no more! I can be that person that will walk past the Jelly Snake point-of-sale- stand! And sure while dreaming of Jelly Snakes [probably] I remembered this little jpeg that popped into my Inbox a while ago;

‘If this is what happens to a Gummi Bear after sitting in water for 24hrs – imagine what would happen if you put it in vodka!’

Oh I think I have an idea for ‘snacks’ at my housewarming party!