Pretty Cheap

I have fallen in love. I found the greatest face mask in a pharmacy in New York (oh yeah, I went to NY this summer. It was quite alright), at the grand price of $3,50 for a massive tube of clay with aloe vera, oats and avocado. After years of spending money on Clinique products, this green goo cleansed my skin like it's never been cleansed before, whilst at the same time keeping it smooth, soft and nourished. Obviously, I left it in Oslo on my return to Durham, and have thus been forced to try and find a similar product. I know I have all my Clinique stuff still, but it's just not the same. It does look damn nice in my bathroom, though...

I found Pond's Cold Cream. And lo and behold, does it work! My skin feels soft, it's smooth and it's goddamn clean. It even removed makeup my makeup. Three days into my little experiment, and my face is radiant. Not that it wasn't before, I am pretty damn hot, but my skin feels great. After a really lazy summer (bar the use of the Clay Mask of Awesome), it has kickstarted my beauty regime. And at £3,99 a jar, it's an inexpensive treat for any type of skin. I have typical combination skin, with dry cheeks and a greasy T-zone with pores that tend to clog, and was therefore a bit worried it might be a bit too rich. However, it cleansed and moisturised at the same time.

I know Jennifer Aniston is one of Pond's celebrity fans, and it shames me to agree with her. But go. Run to your nearest Boots, or Bodycare (where it was £1 cheaper, but they only had the one for normal skin, which is the one I use). Get the normal one, or the extra hydrating one, or the one for wrinkles. Just get it. Pretty skin on a student budget!

The Day Before...

...My Microeconomics exam. So what does one do? Why, go to the Continental Market and pretend to be elsewhere! The boyfriend took me to calm me down and treat me to some yummy food. We had German Krakauers (spicy wurst), the most amazing pork pie ever with red onion marmelade and a bacon and leek quiche from the Posh Pork Pie Co, before rounding of our meals with crêpes. Omnomalicious!

Did anyone say pie?

SAUSAAAAAAGE!

Crepe cuties

And today, to keep revision going, Moroccan Mint tea, my Alice in Wonderland mug and strawberries in a crystal bowl, all served on a silver tray. Stress is no excuse for not being fabulous.

Pretensiousness galore!

Tomorrow I'm going to fuck that exam so hard, it won't know what hit it. Other than it having immaculate nails and fierce clothes, obvs.

Procrasticycling

I'm having an exam on Monday. In my nemesis subject: MICROECONOMICS. And it's superimportant, so I can't just procrastinate. But I didn't want to read either, so I did something useful: Recycling. Old magazines. And turned it into a collage on the wall behind my bed. Because I rock, the wall was dull and OH GOD OH GOD EXAM ME NO WANNA. Hence, this happened.

Just a Casual Night Out

So I was sat in my PJs on a Friday night, with no makeup and no plans other than ice cream, when the lovely miss Karin called. Thus, fabulousing up was a necessity! Upon arriving at Fabio's, I couldn't find anyone but sweaty freshers and Rahs queueing for the bar, all looking hideous. I mean, put some effort in. I know you can't do anything about your face, but the tracksuit bottoms don't help  your apperance. Fortunately, I recovered Karin and we awaited the arrival of the gorgeous miss Alexandra. When she finally made her entrance, I discovered to my great delight that she was also full-lenght fab.

Cue: Robodaaaaancing, daaaaahling!





God, I'm fabulous.

Writer's Block

So I'm trying to write. I know I can do it. I have all these great ideas, but as soon as I sit down to actually write, they turn out horribly wrong. Either my great ideas are in fact terrible, and with my brilliance that is unlikely, or I've caught Writer's Blockitis. Somewhat delusional, you say? How can I catch Writer's Blockitis? Well, frankly, you can sod off. The point is, I'm trying to write and I just cannot get my ideas down on paper (screen). Just now I was trying to write a small piece about travelling for a competition, titled "Up the Creek". Great idea in my head, couldn't get it to work in writing. I should probably scrap my original idea (a piece on the Hjørund fjord, the great unknown valley of Norway) and do something more conventional (like that village in Chianti where I had tomato sorbet and wild boar and chocolate stew), but I like the Hjørund fjord.

Nevermind. The Hjørund fjord is too good for the public anyway.


The comic is from Toothpaste For Dinner. It's awesome.

Full House!

I've recently moved from a flat in central Durham to a lovely house just a bit outside the cit centre. God, is it awesome. Disregarding the various problems with the flat (first landlady going bankrupt, new landlord being what most people would refer to as a c*unt, noise levels, being generally disgusting), GOD AM I IN LOVE WITH THIS PLACE. I have a massive ensuite and a walk-in wardrobe. I did a little squeal and skip session the first time I saw it properly. Someone said they didn't think I had enough clothes to fill it. HAH! I need more coat- and skirthangers. I only have about 60. And a shoe rack, and possibly another set of drawers. Am planning on turning it into a boudoir style paradise of feathers, fashion and flowers. Pictures will probably follow.

Am loving my housemates as well. They're awesome. In spite of the guys' dislike of the bright pink and green combo I decided for the kitchen, being the interior bitch I am. So I've put some gender neutral stuff in as well (world map, condoms, the sign language alphabet. The sign language alphabet makes sense, right?) just to butch it up a little. For an April Fools' joke K and I considered dipping tampons in strawberry jam, wrapping them in a little bit of toilet paper, and leaving them in strategical places. I thought it was a great idea. Silly K voted it down. I think she has taste or some other affliction when it comes to practical jokes.

Oh Dear....

So here I am. Close to being completely broke and having to ask my parents for financial support for the first time. There's 10kgs, or 15%, more of me than there was a year ago. In little more than five weeks, I have to resit an exam I'm terrified of, not only because it's Microeconomics and I should be very, very worried, but because failing would mean dropping out of Uni, a massive debt and having to start over again at the age of 21 (which is just not the done thing over here in the UK). I'm unemployed, and struggle to find work that fits in with my schedule and dividing my time between Oslo and Durham, not least because my qualifications and previous work experience is foreign, and therefore scary. In other words, I'm pretty screwed. It's at times like these I wish I'd spent this year living with my parents, getting a job and being bored. But no. I'm too proud for that. Which is probably why I'm in this situation (that, and my damn fascination with fashion. Damn you, fashion!).

Not a very interesting life, you may say. But goddamn it, I know some amazing people, and I'm goddamn fabulous. That's definitely worth a blog. Hey, if 13 year-olds can do it, so can I. At least I have boobs.