A blog with no title

I got a 2:2 in my first year of uni. If this blog was graded, I'd get like, a 3:3. (Is that a thing? How do uni grades go after the 2's? Must look inbto this.)
This blog, like my life, lacks purpose somewhat. It has no specific topic, niche or audience. But then, I don't want to put myself into a box, do I? Incidentally if I did, it would be a tastefully shabby chic storage solution. I bloody love storage.
I found the bullet pointed list that my friend made me the night she encouraged me, (read: handcuffed me to a radiator and hit me with a toilet brush), to start blogging. Now Emily is quite the clever little friend, and there are some good ideas in said list. Some questionable ones as well. Either way, I'm going to do everything she suggested. That's twelve things. Holy moly. I'm as yet unsure if this isn't just a complex procrastination tool that I am creating for myself now that the start of term is in touching distance. Only time - and my grades - will tell.

Wrapz

I'm really lucky because my auntie - not my actual auntie, but my known-from-birth-auntie whom I love - is manager of a hair and beauty warehouse* and sometimes gets me awesome little things to try out.
When nail wraps first became a thing, I was really dubious and never tried them because I thought they were a waste of money when I do my own patterns anyway. HOWEVER...
Today she brought me a pack of 3D wraps, and despite being quite the genius, I can't create actual jewels with a bottle of nail varnish and a cocktail stick (yet).
They were a lot easier to put on than I thought, they literally stick on. And they are so shiny. I love them.

Big shout out to ma main gal, Betty, a.k.a my tattoo, which makes a cameo in the photo due to the fact that it's sweltering and I don't cope well with clothes in hot weather. She is a year old this month!

*This is how I can afford so many OPI polishes, I'd be totes bankrupt otherwise. Oh, I sort of am anyway...

Buttons

The days when I could get my Arts and Crafts fix with Josh seem to be drawing to a close, he's nearly 8 and much more interested in sports and video games than glitter and tissue paper. Shame.
So yesterday whilst in the haberdashery buying wool for my mum to knit me a cushion, I happened across the button section.
I bloody love buttons.
A while ago I had the idea that revamping some of my converse with a few buttons might look a bit cool, and with all the different coloured and patterned plastic discs in front of me, I splashed out. As it happens, I got home and told my mum what I was doing and she reminded me of her little button box. Happy doesn't begin to cover it. The particular pair I made over are super, super old so I wasn't too fussed about potentially fucking them up so I dived in with the superglue.
My brother thinks they look ridiculous and like something a small child might wear.
But tell someone who gives a shit.
I think they're totally awesome.

Stars, in your multitudes

A little Les Mis reference there, for a few reasons.  For one, my new OPI, Save Me, reminds me of stars - it's so sparkly! Freaking love sparkles, I do. The other reason I thought a quote from Javert's big number is because Steph bought it for me. She's a big Les Mis fan, particularly Javert, and it's sort of (fully) my fault. Being part of a Val Jean/Javert duet will never be the same with anyone else after my collaboration with Steph. The same can be said for On My Own and Taylor, The Latte Boy.

Because who doesn't love those documentaries about hoarders?

"I very rarely never clear out my car, so when I do, strange things are found, things you might never expect to find in a car. A selection of things found today include:

• Two corsets (One black, the other ivory and patterned)

• Black patent stilettos (Slightly scuffed)

• Five Happy Meal Toys (Broken)

• Deflated balloon (McDonalds)

• Mini top hat fascinator (adorned with feathers)

• White frilly ‘Moulin Rouge’ bloomers (V. frilly)

• Pride and Prejudice (Slightly annotated, severely defaced)

• Two packets of sweets, contents of which melted and congealed (Percy Pigs)

• A3 sketchpad (Sketches - not so good)

• Glass stone which I have never seen before in my life (mysterious)

• Two bras (Both black, one is ‘stick on’)"

I found this gem of a list on an old blog of mine (because, y'know, that's an exciting thing to blog about, right?). It is dated nearly two years ago, and the only reason I have deemed it acceptable to re-publish is that the two corsets, frilly bloomers and glass stone are actually still in my boot. Two years on. I have a different car but the same junk.

Work Things

Or rather, customer things. Working in a toy shop is often hilarious, mainly because of parents. They can be so touchy. And stupid. And anal. Sometimes really nice, but usually ridiculous.

• Mummies and Daddies arguing indirectly through their babies. This happens a lot. Examples:

"Maybe Daddy would be grumpy too, if he had a nipple infection. Yes he would!" (Different family) "Mummy doesn't look at prices, does she, my angel? No, mummy doesn't worry about that."

These are ACTUAL conversations that I've heard. Also, the marriage is truly over if they

they continue to call each other Mummy and Daddy when children are out of earshot.

• Teenage MC Daddy. This isn't generally a breed of parent, but rather one particular customer I saw the other week. This guy was in his late teens, he was of a chunky shape and wore a lovely tracksuit. He came in a few steps behind his mum, who was pushing his daughter's pram. It wasn't until they got closer that I realised he was 'freestyling' under his breath. Whilst his mother tried to engage him in conversation about what to buy the baby. At one point she uttered the words: "Grow up. She's your bloody baby." Then the entire shop got to listen to his very loud side of a phonecall regarding his YouTube videos and his newest beats. Contrary to the name of our shop, sweetheart, I don't care.
• Haggling. We are in England. In London, its capital. We are not a market stall. We are, in fact, a large, multinational company. So excuse me for not accepting this goat in exchange for that baby walker.
• Parents holding conversations with their children - and I've seen this happen with children as young as three or four - and casually swearing all over the shop (literally). Not mild swear words either, like bloody, or arse. Like, fuck. And wanker. We don't need to blame television for children's behaviour.
• "Excuse me, do you work here?" Nope. I just really enjoy loitering around toy shops in a pink polo top which says "Let's Play" in really big letters across my back.

Just a small sample of unintentional hilarity.

Emily and her Rampant Rabbits

I am writing this with mixed feelings of pride, jealousy and a strong sense of foreboding. Pride, obviously because my Emily has painted freaking rabbits and little carrots on her bloody nails, they look totally awesome and I love her. Jealousy, because my nails don't have freaking rabbits and little carrots on them*. And this sense of foreboding. They are incredible. They are nearly better than anything I've ever done, (in my eyes they haven't trumped my piano keys!). What if, I don't know, Emily starts painting whole menageries, works of art, an entire Dickens novel, THE SISTINE CHAPEL?! I have competition, baby!

* Incidentally, I'm wearing one of Nicki Minaj's OPI range, Metallic 4 life. It's black with silver glitter and looks like a magical night sky!