Smidge

Everyone around me seems to be talking about weddings…or showing me their huge sparklers, or talking about wedding dresses, or even getting married, including the two weddings of friends this Saturday just past.

(Although at the one I attended, one of the groom’s friends took his underwear off at the table half way through the meal – yes he was wearing a kilt – and threw it at the top table to the delight of the bride. Oh and one of the groomsmen’s girlfriends was so drunk she could be audibly heard swearing throughout the elderly bride’s father’s speech. Now that is a Scottish wedding with class)

Anyways, people panic when they realised I’ve just got divorced. This is despite the fact that most of them know that I’m about to move in with The Boy (1 month to go!) and that my marriage ended 8 years ago. It seems I am not allowed back on the list of people who should be leaping for the bouquet list just yet. That as a recent divorcee I don’t deserve the chance to get married again (or even the romance of getting engaged), that I have to wait out a suitable period of mourning before I can get back on the waiting for a ring train. That if I was lucky enough to get married once, I shouldn’t consider a 2^nd.

 (Or maybe it’s actually because I’ve decided that as a divorcee I am allowed to consider wearing a black ‘rock chic style’ wedding dress especially as The Boy wants to wear a black 21^st Century style kilt. Look, we’d look hot, not like Goths at all. Honest, stop looking at me like that)

To be honest, I didn’t think id ever be at this point where I was thinking that a 2^nd marriage would be a good thing. I’d spent so long hating the fact that once I got divorced I could get proposed to that I didn’t do it the whole time I was with the LTE. (…and then I moan when he proposed to someone else as soon as we broke up, yes, I know how stupid I sound). But I am. I think finally i’ve grown up and accepted that instead of my marriage failure being my fault, that my first foray into the wedded world was doomed from the start.

Many people marry for the wrong reasons, among them 1) to overcome loneliness, 2) to escape an unhappy parental home, 3) because they think that everyone is expected to marry, 4) because only “losers” who can’t find someone to marry stay single, 5) out of a need to parent, or be parented by another person, 6) because they got pregnant, 7) because “we fell in love,”…

Or like us, decided to get hitched after drinking shots 4 hours, 3 weeks after we got together. Ahem. Look I felt like a celebrity, looking back it was more white trash than being divorced at 30. Anyways, I’ve come to believe in this, more than anything recently

A good marriage is at least 80 percent good luck in finding the right person at the right time. The rest is trust.

…and the first step is trusting the fact that you will find someone.

My d.i.v.o.r.c.e came through on Friday. I’ve found this a little hard to talk about as despite the fact it’s been a very long time coming, I’ve found out it is rather taboo. If someone is happy with their situation, then surely this is all that matters? Disapproving faces are not needed. Thankyouverymuch.

Anyway, that said, I guess the emotion I’m feeling isn’t really a celebratory type of happiness exactly, it’s more relief (especially as his goodbye message consisted of “cheerio then…”)…going to a wedding the day after I received my decree wasn’t exactly the best timing tho, but it was lovely. Despite everything I’m not a cynic, i still believe that love can endure. It just needs work, work that i wasn’t willing at 22 to put in.

Scarily I also received a letter from the NHS letting me know my little ‘problem’ has come back. Or not gone away. Whatever, I have another 6 months to wait to find out if I have to go back to have more removed. Yes, this is also a little taboo to talk about, but thousands of other girls are going through the same thing as me right now, I’m nothing special, but thank god for the NHS for keeping on top of this for me. Screening is there to prevent cervical cancer. Don’t ignore it.

So, today i am really trying to not let things get on top of me. The boy and I are planning doing up my wee flat to make it ‘ours’, choosing paint colours and sideboards and rugs and armchairs is relaxing me and giving me hope for a good future for me. The last 10 years of my life are over; It’s time to start afresh.

“it was that you can’t ascribe great cosmic significance to a simple earthly event. Coincidence. That’s all anything ever is. Nothing more than coincidence”

I asked the first if i could buy him a drink, drank him under the table, took him home, sent him to his home, disappeared for 6 weeks, came back, found his number on a card through the door and went ‘out’ with him for 18 months. 10 years later i got over him (after getting under him regularly over the years).

I asked the second his name as i was guarding the guest list at a club. 3 weeks later we were engaged and toured the clubs blagging free champagne, a year later we were married, bought a house, hated each other, broke up. 10 years later we are about to be divorced.

The third i met at my first day on a new job, i teased him about missing a club night – one of his and my favourite hip hop djs. We became friends. About a year later someone pushed us towards each other pointing out that we regularly shared a bed, why not more. There was more. 4 years later we had fallen out of love, out of bed, out of time. A year after that we finally plucked up the courage to leave.

The fourth i never even noticed at a party at my house as i was too busy drinking tequila. He texted me whilst i was on a family holiday alone and in the worst place possible. I agreed to a date despite not really remembering what he looked like. We went camping and rode on the back of his motorcycle. 9 months later i realised i would never love him the way he wanted me to and i left.

The fifth i remember everything about our meeting. I told him he had beautiful eyes. He thought i was stealing his tequila. We kissed 30 minutes later. My best mate gave him a lift home the next day. He came back 4 hours later. We have been through ups and downs, but 2 years later i still think about that night.

So, what if I’d gone to the movies? What if I had gone somewhere else for lunch? What if I’d gotten there 10 minutes later? It was – it was meant to be. And… I just kept thinking…

We both turned around at the same time.

(quotes from (500) Days of Summer)

I have spent most of this week in a nippy mood. You know the kind, nippy enough to have a glass of wine and chocolate but too nippy for this to cure it. The nippiness has upped the stomping around, shouting at the poor cats for excessive cat hair and the swear box now has enough money to buy a Louboutin. Just the one, which is kinda pointless.

On top of the nippiness I have found myself annoyed immensely by little things. I’ve been avoiding writing all the things that have made me annoyed this week as, to be honest, writing them is making me even more annoyed. However, the thought of an Orwellian end to the following is slowly putting a smile back on my face…

I won tickets to a party last night through Twitter (free pink prosecco – win) but on turning up at said party, I was dismayed to be met at the door by a greater who asked “are you here for the Facebook party?”

I wanted to scream, scream and scream some more.

No I was not there for the Facebook party. I was there for the Missoni Hotel ‘Modern Italia lets get people into our hotel party’ which had been advertised (cleverly I must add) through Twitter and Facebook.

But what the marketing company didn’t seem to have grasped that this clever use of social networking had been ruined by the assumption that people who use Twitter and Facebook are going to the event because of the networking site, not the party itself. I might be a snob, but I would not go to something advertised as a ‘Facebook party’, nor would a lot of people I know. The sites are not the party; it is the party itself that is the party (if you get what I mean)

So, sort it out marketing people.

This however, does not include Twestivals, which I fully support. The Edinburgh Twestival is tonight – you can buy your tickets here.

P.S this is not a critism of the Missoni Hotel, as an aside, I really liked the hotel, the ‘on tap’  Prosecco was lovely and if i liked cauliflower soup i am sure that i would have said the same about the food. I will be going back, so the point of the party actually worked – unless they ban me after this blog post!

Boys get infatuated. They get addicted, obsessed and fanatical about stuff. They are all fan-boys in one way or another.  

(Ok, I know girls get slightly obsessed over things – I own 6 silver eyeliner type things and bought yet another new one on Saturday, but not in the way boys do)

From cars to computer games to comics, operating systems to football statistics, from 4sq to geocaching i’ve never met a bloke without his own quirky obsession. The last ex was VW campervans, the one before that Star Wars; deep in the past we also had one that was addicted to a porn star that looked a lot like me and the other who love alcohol and/or illegal drugs more than me too. Men love to geek it up.

The Boy’s obsession is shoes.

Yes, this is normally a girls hobby (and one I am healthily also developing I must add). From Paul Smith to Clarks Originals,  B has more pairs of shoes right now than I have ever owned in 31 years, actually make that more shoes that I could ever own in my entire life.

The top of the Boy’s shoe tree has to be Adidas. Adidas addiction is well known amongst men (there are even support groups set up for this), the trainers are very collectable and real originals can cost as much as a Louboutin (why I really do not understand).

 In particular the addiction is strongest when it comes to Adidas Originals (either 1970s/80s shoes or replicas of said shoes). These shoes are bought, treasured and get this – never worn.

“I keep them locked away in the drawer most of the time now, they are one of the dead stock designs you can’t get anymore”

 So you can imagine the excitement when Size announced that they were re-releasing their ‘city pack series’ – trainers named after cities – Stockholm, Berlin, Manchester and most importantly London. The Boy already owns a pair of Adidas Londons. They, despite looking exactly-the-same have slight differences. Not that I can see them.But that’s not the point. These are one of 500 limited edition, trainers to keep in a box and never ever wear type trainers.  

He started hitting refresh on the Size shop at midnight last night. 12 hours later they finally became available and as the site crashed and he frantically tried to add in his credit card details they sold out. I was there with him, a pair in my basket on my computer, but no…

It was not to be.

I was on the other end of the phone, sharing his disappointment, the F-ing and blinding and his “at least I have one pair”.

But I am a tenacious bugger. Thanks to the power of twitter I was able to see that this was not just us that who had experienced this.  So I kept pressing submit on my order. SUMBIT SUBMIT SUBMIT. And then by a miracle, it did. The payment screen popped up, my card was accepted. The once in a life time trainers were his.

Of course there are no guarantees we have them until they turn up on my doorstep, but oh the surprised joy in the Boy’s voice when he received the confirmation email sent directly to his address… and then I received this text message

“you will become a legend if we get them! Everyone will want to hear the story of the day you successfully acquired Adidas Londons”

…The End

P.s what shall I ask as my payment for services rendered? Do you have/know a man with such an obsession?

It’s the return of the Sunday Sundries post!

…I’m a little hungover today as last night I checked out the new club at Hawke and Hunter in Edinburgh with the Cruise and Hugo Boss crew. Champagne, canapés and hookah pipes – darling! However, I managed to pull over the hookah pipe and nearly got the poor wee waiter boy (who had put it on the floor – stupid) fired and us kicked out. I really like the club, but the manager is an a-hole. Seriously, there is no need to be so rude to customers!

…i had a lovely walk yesterday down the Water of Leith yesterday walking a couple of gorgeous Lhasa Apsos…

…Last week was one of the most random weeks ever. On Wednesday morning i ended up being filmed for the internets for a short film on Solar Panels (yes i am renewable geek) If its not awful, i will maybe, just maybe post the link here…

… The Boy and I have booked a weekend in the Lake District for our 2 year anniversary in May. Woo to us and 2 years. If im brutally honest i never thought we’d make it this far, so there will be at least one bottle of champagne drunk by me im sure…If you are interested we are off to Windermere.

… tomorrow (i think, counting back the days) my decree will be granted. 14 more days and ill be holding it in my sticky hands celebrating with yes, more champagne…

…and finally, if you fancy joining us UK girlie bloggers (and tweeters) in Edinburgh at the next meet up, drop me a line at the email addy above or follow us on Twitter (@GBMEUP)…

I can’t sit with my back to the door. This is mainly because I hate it, although it’s partly because I am a people watcher, a nosy parker if you will. Yes, you and your friend, both with your hood ups, indoors I am judging you. Yes you with your fake Hermes scarf nonchalantly tied sideways on your neck, I am judging you. Yes and you who wont have a conversation with me unless your pal is with us, I am especially judging you.

I know for a fact this girl is not shy, not socially unskilled. I hope that she isn’t just rude. But sitting in silence is not enjoyable or fun, nor is forcing the conversation and receiving monosyllabic answers. She talks to everyone else, animatedly, happily joking and making sarcastic comments. To me, she just sits there, a sour look on her face, cats bum like lips.

Yes, I judge you, because you seem to be judging me.  But as I sat there judging her for her attitude towards me I wondered how often people judge me. I wondered if she had some reason for judging me, right at that minute that meant she just didn’t want to talk to me.

Yes, I am shy, yes I have some issues socially, but if I am honest I often just feel different to other people. I know I occasionally make people paranoid, because they see that I see their frivolity as vacuous and skin deep. I wondered how often I come across as superior and an ice queen (as I was once called), or if I am too serious, or to involved with my job or my degree or if my stories are just too boring…But when the chat is all about ‘lets get on it’ it makes me want to leave, to laugh and say, do you really need to ‘get on it’ to have a good time, is your life so unfilled that you need to enforce fun to get through every day?

The more I people watch, the more I start to understand that inside we are all outcasts, all trying to fit in somewhere. The more I understand that accepting myself is the first step in becoming happy, in having friends who get me, because I get myself.

And I take one more step…

Oh, you never turned around to see the frowns
On the jumpers and the clowns when they did their tricks for you
You never understood that it ain’t no good
You shouldn’t let other people get your kicks for you

Dylan – Like a Rolling Stone

You all know of my desire to be French. One of my go-to blogs is Garance Dore – not only my source of dream fashion (and now in English too!) but also a beacon of basic style. This recent post (‘I am not’) intrigued me: What is my sense of style? What would I not live without? Who am I? What do my clothes say about me?

Il faut souffrir pour être belle – au contraire, I do not suffer to in order to be beautiful. But I do suffer agonies of wanting to be chic, in trying to find my style. These, right now are my style ‘go to-s’.

Always:

Blunt fringe / Khol eyeliner / lashes lashes lashes!

Gucci Rush / Dr Hauschka / Liz Earle / Jo Malone

Day:

Black tights / denim skirt / slouchy Chloe boots /off the shoulder top / military coat

Spaghetti straps / balcony bra / long soft cardigan / boyfriend jeans

Soft shawl neck / McQueen style scarf (wish list!) / jeans in boots

Ballet flats / cropped jeans / mod coat / satchel bag (wish list!)

Night:

Skinny jeans (grey or black) / knee high black boots / soft leather jacket

Cigarette pants / sharp shoe boots / silver jewellery

‘Swing’ dress / black tights / high high heals

Little black dress / statement heals

Soft silk swing skirt / strapless top

So, this is my starting point, my basic outfits. This is my comfort zone. My ‘I want my look to be effortless’ looks. My building block of style.

So, this is what i am going to do: fashion is something I love, my heart is in it, even if i never look it, but I am going to make it a bigger part of me. To bring out my confidence. My style.

Paree is calling me in June; I will dash across the Champs Elysees, pose like a cherie under the Tour de Eiffel and twinkle like an étoile for my boy over dinner.

What are your style basics?

(p.s id welcome fashion blog links, which are your favourites? plus online shops too!)