It is supposedly the second day of summer and yet, in true northern ireland fashion, the sky is grey, there is a superfluous amount of rain and my toes feel like they are about to fall off. Fan-tas-tic. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that the sun does decide to get its vast, glowing ass out sometime during the next week, otherwise I'm going to be swimming or, more accurately, drowning in mud at Summer Madness.
I can't believe it's almost time for the Formal and Summer Madness. I feel like I've been so unprepared and last-minute for this year's Formal- I went into town yesterday in a frenzied hunt for silver shoes and, to my relief, managed to get a pair in new look for 20 quid. Score! I did actually see a pair in Quiz that i really liked as well, which was surprising because I only really went in there as a last resort. I half expected to find lots of pink, sequined stilettos with the playboy bunny logo embroidered on them somewhere, but apparently their shoes are not as tackerific as their clothes. Unfortunately the shoes I liked in Quiz squashed my feet so that it looked like I had three toes and they also made me walk like a person who was suffering from chronic constipation. I think the other shoes were a better bet.
Although my exams have been over for what seems like an eternity, I don't really feel like I've been celebrating being off for the summer. Catherine and I spent all of last week back in school lying on Ms Cochrane's floor, painting breton scenes on wooden boards. Not quite what I had in mind for the start of the summer holidays I'll admit, but when Mrs Weir mentioned that they would pay us for helping out, I was hardly going to refuse. Chances are I would have agreed to help out anyway even if there wasn't going to be a reward at the end of it. On Friday, we went to the UUJ to help out with the breton village day with heads covered in berets and red scarves wrapped around our necks. I sincerely hope that the students didn't think we were really eager linguists, and that they did realize it was part of our duty to dress up as french people. It was actually quite a good day as in it was really well planned out, but my throat was a bit sore at the end of the day from having spoken so much french- even though it was literally the same speech every time: " Bonjour et bienvenue a notre petit gallerie d'art.' Despite its repetition, it was apparently quite challenging and, every time we said it, the kids gave us the same what-the-hell-are-you-on-about stares.
Last week, I went to Glasgow for the day with Catherine. We had to get up at 5 in the morning, which wasn't exactly thrilling, but when we got on the boat and I'd had breakfast, I did revive ever so slightly. Our journey was pretty relaxing because we got a good sitting place, so we were able to look out at the sea. It was a good thing that our view was pretty good, because the noise coming from the group of chavs sitting opposite us wasn't quite as pleasant, in fact it made me want to do a van gogh and chop off my ears. I do always think that chavs are endlessly amusing though, in a 'i feel sorry for you' kind of way. The fact that they were drinking glasses of cheap cider at 7 in the morning says it all.
When we got off the boat, we got on a coach which dropped us right off in Glasgow city centre. Our first stop was the big shopping centre that I cannot remember the name of. We went to Boots to put make-up on because we'd been up for so long and were probably not looking our hottest. Catherine made the mistake of putting on some 'lip injector' lipgloss by Two Faced and then proceeded to scream ' my lips are burning, Mel. Ah. Oh. My lips feel different. What is going on?!' I, being a big sceptic, ignored what she was saying and continued to look at the make-up. A few minutes later, I turned round and thought Pete Burns was standing beside me. They really should have some sort of warning on that 'lipgloss', or rename it 'torture in a tube.'
We spent the majority of our day shopping, hottie-searching ( which unfortunately wasn't a great success, quelle surprise!) and sitting about. One of the highlights of the day was going into Accessorize, confidently stating ' I don't get these hippy headband things everyone is wearing', trying them on for the laugh and then saying, ' well, actually, they look quite good. Let's buy them.' Talk about fickle. Even though we impulsively decided to buy what were essentially pieces of silver string, we did not feel confident enough to pull them off and made a bigger deal about how they should sit than was probably necessary. I think i had good reason to stress, however, as my head is actually the size of a pea, and nothing seems to fit it. Sighs. Is there such a thing as head-enlarging surgery?
Visiting Glasgow's House of Fraser was quite an interesting experience. Those glaswegians cannot stop offering to do your make-up, so we felt like we had to say yes. I ended up sitting down to get my makeup done at The Urban Decay counter because the girl was really gorgeous( not in a lesbian way, but more in a ' i can appreciate your beauty' way) and had good make-up, so I figured, what is there to lose? Well, actually, the colour of my skin was the answer to that question. She started putting on glitter eyeliner on me, which was fine, though slightly worrying as I didn't know what colour it was. So I'm sitting there, thinking to myself, ' oooh, I wonder what make-up she's putting on me..', and then suddenly I feel something sweep across my face that feels like it could be a fricking cloth brush. I tried to comfort myself by imagining she was putting powder on my face, but when I opened my eyes I realized that it wasn't so much powder as tangerine BRONZER. On my face. Me, the girl with skin so pale that the nurse asks if I'm sick everytime I pass her in the corridor. So if you want to look like a bottle of iron brew, go to the counter at Urban Decay. The girl there is really good at that look.
Well, the Formal's this Thursday- I keep having to remind myself of this fact, because I'm worried I'm going to wake up and think ' CRAP. I haven't shaved my legs/ done my fake tan/ anything yet.' I don't think I've really come to terms with this being the last time I'm going to see some people in a long time, or perhaps ever. Instead, I go from day to day thinking, " am I going to look over-dressed? Are my eyeshadows going to bring out the colour of my dress and the colour of my eyes? Are my 'Broadway natural false nails' going to stay on all night?" That made me sound slightly Elle Woods-esque, but really I'm not losing sleep over it or anything. These are all just minor worries fortunately. The real worry is: do I wear a bra or not? Given that my dress doesn't allow any oxygen into my lungs, I figure I should be okay boobs-wise, but there is still that fear that one minute you're dancing away, without a care in the world, and certainly no worries about what the boobs are doing, and the next minute the boobs are out and you don't really know where to put them. I can't face that trauma, and so I very cowardly am going to buy one of those ' stick-on' bras. But then I worry that it will fall off or fall down and then it will look like I have four boobs, which is never, under any circumstances whatsoever, a good look. That reminds me a bit of Chandler and his three nipples. HA.
What else have I being doing except boob-stressing? Um. Well, we didn't manage to get out to Box, so I ended up staying over at Sarah's, drinking Bacardi and mourning single life. I was too mortified to carry the alcohol from the off license to Sarah's car, so I made her do it, so that if Mrs Gormley or someone had have been there, I could have just said, " she's the one with the blue bag, not me." Nicki had a barbecue( you know, with burgers and sausages etc. I thought I'd reinforce what it was because I don't think I can spell the word) on Friday night, which was great banter, though I discovered that syllabically is the adverb from syllable, not 'syllabililalically' as I seemed to think.
That's all for now. I'll let you know how summer madness and the formal go. I imagine brilliantly.
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