When I wrote about my shoe collection earlier this week, Madeline had an interesting question for me. Well, it was interesting to me, anyway, because it was about mascara, and I find almost EVERYTHING about mascara interesting. Madeline said:
“ Now, i’ll throw a really hard question to you: how many individual tubes of mascara do you have? I know now you’ll be counting till tomorrow (i’m evil, i know )”
Oh yeah: THAT. The mascara. Oh my holy hell, the mascara:
 THE MASCARA Oh, hai, everyone! My name’s Amber, and I’m a mascara addict. Actually, in my defence, I have to point out that at least half of the FOURTEEN TUBES OF MASCARA you see before you were sent to me as review samples, so I didn’t actually go out and buy all of them. I mean, I may be crazy, but I’m not THAT crazy. Well, not yet, anyway.
My addiction to mascara has been with me since my early teens. It began at roughly that point life when you start to become aware of your appearance, and one day you look into the mirror, and think, “Damn, who stole my eyelashes, WHO?” In my case, no one stole my eyelashes: they do exist, but, as is the case with many redheads, they’re so pale that they may as well NOT. I guess the correct term for them would be “strawberry blonde”, but mine are more blonde than strawberry, and if I wasn’t wearing mascara, and you were standing close enough to see (or rather NOT see) my lashes, you would probably think I was some kind of half human/half reptile hybrid, and you would call up Will Smith and ask him to take me down.
That would never happen, though, because there is basically NEVER a time when I’m not wearing mascara. (And also because if you ever try standing that close to me, I will cut you. I really hope you’re reading this, woman at the gym who got onto the treadmill right next to mine yesterday when there were TEN OTHER COMPLETELY EMPTY TREADMILLS AVAILABLE… ) Seriously, my mascara consumption is the stuff of legend. When I lived in halls of residence at university, the fire alarm in our building would frequently go off in the middle of the night, and we’d all have to pile outside to stand in the freezing cold until the fire brigade arrived to switch it off again. With just a few short minutes to prepare myself for this ordeal, my choice was simple: I could either throw on some clothes, or I could throw on some mascara. That’s why, every single time that fire alarm went off, I would be found standing shivering outside in my dressing gown: but by God, my eyelashes looked marvelous.
These days, of course, I dye my lashes, so I’m less likely to be mistaken for an alien, should anyone ever see me without makeup. Dying lashes only changes the colour of them, though: it doesn’t lengthen them, or curl them, or volumise them, or do any of the other wonderful things mascara can do. This was the truth I learned as a young teenager, when I would leave for school in the morning completely bare-faced, and mysteriously manage to arrive there with half of the Cover Girl counter on my face. My plan, if my parents ever found out about this, was to claim to have been mugged by a makeup artist. Because, seriously THAT’S WHAT IT LOOKED LIKE.
That’s why, throughout my formative years, my most frequently asked question wasn’t “How many pairs of shoes do you have?” but “Are you a drag queen?”
It’s also why I have a Sephora loyalty card, even although I don’t live in a country they deliver to. GOD.
Tagged friday photo
Dear People who keep sending me hate mail relating to the E! Network’s “Fashion Police” show,
I AM NOT the E! Network. Or, indeed, Joan Rivers. And I don’t have Kim Kardashian’s number either, so no, I can’t pass on your message to her. Oh, and I have no idea who ‘Guiliana’ is (see: NOT THE E! NETWORK, above), so I really can’t comment on whether or not her head looks like “a giant pea trapped in a worn out floor mop” although I’ll certainly be Googling that as soon as I finish writing this.
To get back to the topic, though: please stop sending me angry messages about people’s pea heads. If you absolutely MUST waste your life sending complete strangers abuse via the internet, at least make sure you get the RIGHT stranger. I have my own hate mail from lunatics, I don’t need to get Joan Rivers’ hate mail too, OK? Don’t they teach you kids ANYTHING in school these days? GOD. When I was a kid, we knew how to properly address hate mail. This was all fields, then…
I would have sent this to you personally, of course, but the first email just made me shake my head and say, “Terry, we got us another idiot, here, open up the Idiot File!” and the next person had managed to make their reply email bounce back. (Which was stupid, by the way. How can I reply to your concerns about the whole pea-head thing if you won’t tell me who you are? I mean, YOU know who I am, so … oh no, wait: you don’t, do you? You think I’m Joan Rivers. There’s no point in me even writing this, is there?)
Yours,
Magic “Not the E! Network” Amber
Tagged email fun, I am not a shop, magic amber
Seventy-one pairs of shoes. That’s the answer to one of my most frequently asked questions (The others: “If my husband’s grandfather’s dog’s sister’s auntie was a ginger, but I have black hair, do you think my children will be gingers too, and can I drown them in a sack if they are?” “Will those boots you wrote about in 2007 fit me, do you think?” and “Can I buy three of these dresses, please?”). It’s usually followed almost instantly with, “And what do you actually DO with all those shoes?” To which I always answer, “I thread them all onto a piece of string and wear them around my neck, obviously, what do other people do with shoes?”
I bring this up because I’ve been asked The Question a couple of times recently, and only found out the answer myself last night, when I decided to actually count the damn things. (Counting shoes: not as interesting as you might think, kids! Bit like counting sheep, actually…) Seventy-one pairs, not counting running shoes, and wellingtons, and those ancient ballet flats I really should throw out, but God, they’re so comfortable, maybe I’ll just give ‘em another week. I’ll be honest: I thought the magic number would be higher than that, and my first reaction was “Wow, that’s hardly any! I’m really letting the shoe-blogging side down, here, must buy some more!”, but of course, seventy-one pairs of shoes IS quite a few, I suppose. Well, a few more than “a few”, hmmm?
I just realised this post sounds like it’s building up to some kind of dramatic “I’m giving up shoes for Lent!” type of declaration. But, er, it isn’t. For one thing, being a complete and utter heathen means I don’t have to give up ANYTHING for Lent (which is awesome, especially when other people give up chocolate. It leaves more of it for me.), and for another thing: AS IF. So I’m not giving up buying shoes. I am, however, going to start trying to wear them all more often, rather than just that same pair of tan peep toes (summer) and black boots (winter) all the time. Then I will …well, then I will probably buy some more.
“Why shoes?” is always the next question in this particular conversation. To which I say: why not? I can’t claim that shoes are the answer to world peace, or that they have shown me the meaning of life, or anything deep like that: I just like them. Always have, right from the moment I slipped on a pair of those toy “high heels” once childhood Christmas, and probably always will. Shoes are fun. You never have to worry about whether they’ll make you look fat, or clash with your hair. They last for years (many of the pairs in my collection are pensioners in shoe-years), you don’t ever have to iron them, and they’re good to look at. What’s not to like?
Anyway, hopefully this answers the burning question on at least two people’s lips this week. And I have to admit, it’s nice to get a question I can actually answer for once, rather than the usual stuff about “ginger” babies…
Tagged shoes
I’ve been ill. I’ve been ill in a “having to take time off work to flop uselessly on the couch surrounded by tissues and lemsip” kind of ill. A “can’t stop talking about how bad I feel” kind of way. So I haven’t been blogging. I can’t write when I’m ill: or I can, but I just write a bunch of maudlin, woe-is-me rubbish. Sometimes I even put in song lyrics and everything, like an emo kid. Instead of all that, then, I bring you an email I received yesterday:
From: Hot Looks Lover
Sent: 21 January 2010 17:22
To: Magic Amber
Subject: i love hot looks
hi,
i’m [name removed] and i love to paint my nails especially with hot looks nail varnish. can’t wait for more colours to come out, i just love your products and the names.
from [removed] XXX
Ps. i think you should do a plum colour with sparkles in and call it revive at midnight.
Oh, damn! Can you believe I COMPLETELY forgot I was the owner of a nail polish brand? Which I apparently named, er, “Hot Looks“. (Note to self: stop drinking.) Now that I’ve been reminded of this totally neglected aspect of my career, however, I will endeavor to get off my lazy ass and make that bad boy a success! Under my expert guidance, Hot Looks will become a nail polish brand to be reckoned with! I will begin by making a plum colour with sparkles in it. I think I will call it “Revive at Midnight”. (No one ask me WHAT is being revived at midnight, OK? Because I have no idea. Vampires, maybe? The thing that lives in my attic?)
I also received an email yesterday that opened with the line, “We would like to send you some of our eyelashes.” Until I realised they were talking about FALSE eyelashes, I was totally freaked out…
Tagged email fun, I am not a shop, magic amber
I woke up with a lurgy this morning: sore throat, runny nose, general feeling of, “Oh crap, January done kicked me in the ass AGAIN.” Great!
Actually, that’s not quite true: I woke up in the middle of the night with the lurgy. My throat felt like sandpaper, and my trusty bottle of water was still on my desk in the office, where I’d left it, so I was forced to run the gauntlet of the hall, and all of the DEMONS that live in it (No more demon noises to report, by the way. We’re taking the “if we just stick our heads in this handy pile of sand, here, it’ll be like it never happened!”) to retrieve it. It was at that point that I more or less abandoned all plans for the day, including my plan to return to the gym for THE FIRST TIME SINCE DECEMBER. Instead, I just returned to bed, and didn’t get up until… well, some considerable time later. I wish I could hibernate for the winter, like a little animal. It seems to be my natural inclination at this time of year.
In slightly better news, when I did finally wake up, it was to the sound of the postman bringing me my new shoes:
Yes, they still have the label on the sole, because I was too lazy/lurgy-filled to remove it. I probbaly won’t be able to wear them until about May, though, so that’ll give me time to painstakinginly pick it off, cursing and whining as I do so. (Why must they stick horrible labels on the soles of my shoes, WHY?)
Is it nearly Spring yet?
Tagged lurgy, shoes
 This is just one example of the large number of rogue apostrophes currently littering the island of Gran Canaria, which Terry and I visited last month. These apostrophes were everywhere: on signs, on menus, on buildings… you name it. I’ve honestly never seen such widespread misuse of the poor old apostrophe in one place in my life. What happened to cause this sad state of affairs? We’ll probably never know. What I CAN tell you, however, is that the bar/restaurant I took this photo in did a really nice lasagna…
Taken on holiday in Gran Canaria. No explanation required.
Happy Friday, everyone!
Tagged friday photo, gran canaria
Remember our attic-dwelling “visitor” of last year? The one who made noises in the walls and went on a chewin’ spree among the bags of old clothes and other junk up there?
No, we didn’t either. We’d had the best of intentions about calling the council and asking them to come and investigate our “visitor”, but it happened right before we went on holiday, and then by the time we got back, and had Christmas, and then New Year, and the snow came, and blah,blah, blah, we’d forgotten all about the Madthing in the Attic. And there were no more noises to remind us, either.
Until this week.
On Tuesday night I went to bed as normal, only to be rudely awoken a few hours later by what sounded like a large animal trying to scratch its way through the ceiling and get me. “Uh-oh, Shaggy!” I thought, “It’s grown! It’s been up there all the time, feeding on my old clothes, and growing fat and wicked. OMG!”
I woke Terry, so he could lie awake and listen to the giant creature slithering along the ceiling too. “You know,” he said after a while. “I’m not so sure that IS a giant creature. I think it could just be snow falling off the roof.”
I wasn’t totally convinced by this. I was sure I’d heard the “snow” making scratching noises. And whispering, “Amber! Amber! I’m coming to get yoooooouuuu!” But then again, was I sure? It was late. I was sleepy. Maybe it WAS just snow sliding off the roof after all? I drifted off to sleep, to dream of… well, to dream of being trapped inside an airplane that was driving along the motorway in the snow, actually, but the point is, by the time morning came, I’d forgotten all about our mysterious visitor/snow.
Until last night.
Last night we got into bed and I was just drifting off to sleep when Terry spoke. “You know,” he said. “I’ve been thinking. I’m not so sure those noises last night WERE snow.” He paused. “In fact,” he said, “I don’t know WHAT the hell those noises were. Maybe a demon, though?”
Well, that was it for me. Because last weekend? Last weekend we watched Paranormal Activity. And as anyone who’s seen the movie will probably understand, the LAST THING you want after that is to start hearing strange noises in your house in the middle of the night. Especially when you were just about to get up and use the bathroom, but now you can’t, because your husband has just suggested that, hey, there may be a DEMON lurking in your home!
Sadly for me, I’d actually managed to fulfill my “drink two litres of water per day” resolution for once. I’d drunk most of this water before bed, though, in a stupid-ass “whoops, I forgot to drink my two litres of water again, I will just do it now!” move. I had to visit the bathroom more than once last night. And every time I did, I stood trembling behind the door for a few seconds, convinced that when I opened it, I would see something coming up the stairs. Or just hear it, which would possibly be worse, although I’d prefer not to put that theory to the test. Then I’d have to do that “run to the bedroom with your eyes closed, and pull the covers over your head instantly, because if you can’t see it, it can’t scare you!” thing. Ah, scary movies, how I love you!
Anyway. In the cold light of day we are once again convinced that our Tuesday night visitor was either:
a) a member of the animal kingdom, whether it be rat, mouse or squirrel. A bit annoying, but unlikely to steal our souls while we’re asleep.
b) snow falling off the roof. This doesn’t explain the earlier occurrences, obviously, because there was no snow then, but these noises were a little different from the first ones, so perhaps our animal visitor has left us, and now we’re just hearing snow.
Or it could be Nigel.
More news as we have it, folks…
Tagged the thing that lives in the attic
Do you think we could maybe just start again with this whole “2010″ thing? Say, next week, maybe? Is next week good for everyone? Because so far this year isn’t really working out for me. It’s mostly because of the horrible weather. I’ve always viewed winter as a kind of obstacle in the year – something like a dragon, say, which you have to slay before you can emerge triumphant onto the sunny plains of Spring, but this year the dragon is seriously pissed, and I have the feeling it might just emerge the victor.
In other words: I’m feeling a bit flat. I hesitate to mention this here, because I know I’m just opening myself up to a whole bunch of “some people don’t even HAVE weather!” comments, and trust me: I know how lucky I am. I’m just suffering a case of the Januarys, and going by my Twitter feed, I somehow don’t think I’m the only one. I, of course, have it better than most in that I don’t have to deal with the daily struggle to get to work when most of the roads are impassable and the public transport is non-existent, but there’s a general feeling of gloom in the air at the moment, and while that’s more or less the norm for me during the winter, it does seem worse than usual right now.
So, my proposal is that we write off the first two weeks of 2010 and start again on Monday. By then I’m hoping the snow will have undergone a Melting; the roads will be back to normal, I’ll be able to wear heels again without breaking my neck, will have spent some time in front of my S.A.D. lamp, and will have returned to the gym, for the first time in… umm, let’s just say a while. I will start again on Monday, and by then, the dragon will be dead, and January and I will be back on speaking terms. I hope.
Now, who’s with me?
Tagged I hate winter
It’s really a Saturday Photo now, of course, but here I am sitting on top of one of the Maspalomas sand dunes, in Gran Canaria.
It’s a big ‘un, isn’t it?
Tagged friday photo, gran canaria
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