No, really, there is more. Continue reading
Author: brightandbeautyfull
In Which I Get Botox and Restalyne in My Face {III}
Gotten away with… what, exactly? Gotten away with ‘getting some work done’ and no one can even tell?
So what’s the point, then?
Look, shit is starting to happen to my appearance. I realise that I have become quite attached to people gaping when I tell them how old I am. I am becoming disturbingly keen to get that reaction for, oh, the next twenty years or so. I realise that, after a lifetime of looking like a Cabbage Patch Kid, I am happy enough to keep that face, only with less blank staring. But, that shit is starting to happen. I can see the area under my chin, the turkey-wattle area – well, it’s beginning to look like a feckin’ turkey wattle. I don’t look good in scarves — I need every inch of neck that I’ve got. Dammit.
***
I wake up, and it is amazing: my mind, my poor, easily-led, easily alarmed mind, zeroes in on my mouth brackets. Or what used to be my mouth brackets. I think Dr Peter used the term ‘comma’ rather than ‘bracket’ which is so much softer and gentler, but no, I am all about the brackets. They have been the site of constant scrutiny in the last four {six, actually. Maybe eight} months or so, which only makes them worse, because I look at them and frown, and there I go! Digging them in! So much for the ‘detached appraisal’ of the beauty journalist. Yeah.
I wake up, and the area is less sore. I swipe the alarm on my iPhone, conveniently installed on the bedside dock, and removing it {haaaaalp me!} I take a look in the reverse camera. As I’m lying down still, I look even weirder than I think I look in my mind’s eye. I stick the phone back in the thing, and I close my eyes, my fingers gently massaging my jaw, which is rock-hard with tension.
***
Again: the actual process itself was professional, fast, thorough, and assured. Had Dr Peter been a dentist, I would have been like, ‘OMG this dentist I went to!’ And if you ask me for a recommendation for a … well, it’s not a nip and a tuck because: no knives — holy God could you imagine what I would have been like if there had been knives?!? — If you say to me, ‘Sue, these crow’s feet, what do I do?’ I would say, go to Venus Medical in Dundrum. <Not a word of a lie. You can hop on the LUAS and be there from town in twenty minutes, twenty minutes for your tweak, and then boom, back to work, that is your lunch hour.
***
I’ve been trying to take photos to show this, the brackets ‘after’, and have also been trawling old photos for the ‘before’. I have discovered that I make silly faces when I take pictures of myself, I think to acknowledge the absurdity of peering into a device and immortalising my new glasses or a lipstick. I didn’t think there was anything to this, that there was an underlying thing, but there I was, all along, mocking my seemingly regular documentation of myself.
I had always liked drawing and painting self-portraits in art college. What does this mean? I’ll give you vanity, but I don’t think it’s narcissism? <But forealz, what else would a narcissist say?! I just made myself laugh, and today, it doesn’t hurt to laugh. I woke up, and the left side of my mouth was little tender, but I just laughed and I feel like I’ve got the essence of my face, its movement, back. I feel like now, maybe, this wasn’t such a big deal?
Didn’t feel that way on Saturday, though, when I began to focus on the Botox-ed gully between my brows, and wondered: if I put on my riding hat, will that screw up the treatment???
Installment the first, and the second.
To be continued…
In Which I Get Botox and Restalyne in My Face {II}
‘Do I look freaky?’
Noooooo, the gals assured me, but dammit, I felt freaky. I felt like I could feel all the stuff that had been injected into my face {with neeeeeeeedles!}, I could feel it, like it was going to start morphing underneath my skin, distorting my face, my face! There had been nothing wrong with my face! And now, what had I done, there was stuff in there, what was it going to do, would my friends even recognise me?!?
Always had way too much imagination. And a penchant for la dramz. Continue reading
In Which I Get Botox and Restalyne in My Face {I}
I don’t know if it actually needs saying, but of course all opinions on this site are my own.
All reactions are my own, too, and are mainly emotional, and I have given myself a lot to react to this morning.
I didn’t know it when I woke up, but by midday I was going to have ‘work’ done. Continue reading
Mum’s the Word: Buying for Sisters Who are Also Mothers
I’m not sure, is it a good thing that Mother’s Day in Ireland falls on the Paddy’s Day* bank holiday?
A) You can’t just feck off somewhere.
B) Unless mum is fecking off as well.
C) A bank holiday Mothering Sunday is an excellent excuse for a real full out hoolie.
D) Because you can recover on bank holiday Monday.
E) Unless your family don’t party well as a group, if you take my meaning, then you’ve lost a whole bank holiday drinking Sunday.
Ach! How to cope? Buy a lovely gift for all the mum’s in your life, that includes the sisters and sister-in-law who have presented you with nieces and nephews, and godmothers, too.
Hmm. This is starting to add up. And let’s face it, there’s a hierarchy. Better spend most of your pennies on your mum. So what to do about the rest of the mum-type ladies in your life?
My best default is Aldi, which is a no brainer, really. I know, I know, you don’t want to cheap out on the sister-types, but what do you think you’re getting? I myself would be delighted beyond words to receive a bottle of Phillipe Michel Crément Du Jura Sparkling Chardonnay (€9.99, 75cl). This will go a long way to making the bank holiday experience bubbly and festive.
I have a bubble-bias, so even without having tried this, I am happy to vouch for it. You know what I would love into little bits and pieces? A sparkling rosé. OMG, talk about tacky, but I would drink the living daylights out of a sparkling rosé.
I have tried two samples from the Abbott & Broome line: the Sweet Clementine & Grapefruit Luxurious Handwash (€1.49, 300ml), which is the yellow one in the middle of the group on the left, and the Divine Gingerlily Luxurious Bath & Shower Gel (€1.99, 300ml), which is the brown one on the far right. Their scents are rich, as are their suds, and the Bath & Shower Gel in particular is a real winner. Their line up looks fairly comprehensive, with a scent family to suit just about anybody, judging by the colours anyway, which may not be the most sensible thing.
My advice? Buy all the bottles, and you will be a total heroine.
*A teaching moment: that’s what we call it here, not ‘St Patty’s Day’. The more you know!
Am I Toner Deaf?
I’ve always been a bit suspicious of toner, in that I’ve felt it an unnecessary part of a beauty regime. If you’re cleansing, do you really have to tone? I say this having been using Clinique’s Clarifying Lotion since, oh, forever. What am I even talking about? Continue reading
Houses of the Curly
STAIRWAY TO HAIR HEAVEN? I like to browse through old photos, past clippings, and all manner of the weird bits and pieces I have kept over the years. I got rid of a bunch of stuff in the move, which I may regret at some stage, but there’s a whole world of nostalgia knocking around my hard drive.
I sometimes launch Photo Booth on my Mac because I need to check my amazing brows yet again, or apply a lipstick I’m testing. Trust me, this is in no way a vain exercise because I don’t think I ever look worse than when that programme launches, and I am caught unawares. I never click the red button to snap those pictures, but when I start throwing shapes, all is at least OK with the world.
At almost the same time as I was perusing Photo Booth, I was also googling some old columns from the Herald. In an amazing example of synchronicity, I came upon this Gadget Gal column, a review of the Yogi Wand, after I had found this photo:
Post-Wand, and it totally looks worth it, although I have to say I was surprised I didn’t have to ring for an ambulance, as I feel like I burnt the beejayziz out of my ears, from knocking into them with the Wand.
At that very moment, in the photo, I was Skyping Karen, and the stupid video wasn’t working, and I wanted her to see my haaaaaair, so I took the photo with the computer and then emailed. O brave new world that has such gadgets in it!
Now everybody can see my hair, and I’m kind of getting a buzz to curl it up again. I’ve got a Remington Pearl Pro-Styler that looks pretty interesting… hmmm. Maybe I’ll play with that later. I really do have to psyche myself up for it, because I am not the most patient person in the world, and just want the hair to be done. Oh, sure, I start out slowly, but the hanks of hair get bigger and bigger the more bored I get by the process.
But! I end up looking like Robert Plant, which I feel is actually a good thing…
The Yogi Wand is available at Peter Mark for €69; ring round first, because there seems to be a dearth of wands in Dublin at the moment.
Moving House Does Murder Sleep*
I think I’ve gotten into the swing of sleeping in the new place, but holy wow, the first two or three nights were almost impossible.
Or they would have been if not for AVON’S Sleeptherapy Goodnight Pillow Mist. I don’t know what’s in it, except it smells like lavender, which makes sense. All I know is, I spritz a bit of this on my pillows and I am out like a light.
Now, going to sleep, at the best of times, is not all that easy, not for me. My mind chatters like a monkey, even when I am telling it to hush up, and what with the stress of the move blah blaaaaah, I was all set up to be cranky for several days running.
Not with this stuff. In fact, I had it by my {new} bedside, the second night, and at around 3am, when it became clear that quality snooze was not happening, I remembered to spray the pillows and off I went, land of nod-bound.
I don’t use it every night, but it’s there when I need it, and that’s all I need!
Avon’s Sleeptherapy Goodnight Pillow Mist €6/£4.50
*Apologies, Scottish play.
When Blogs Collide: Cicaplast by La Roche-Posay
I posted this image on my horse blog, because I like to keep my readers apprised of the latest havoc wrecked upon my bod.
You can read all about the genesis of that bruise via the link, if you like.
Having attended the recent launch for Cicaplast Baume B5 by La Roche-Posay (€12.50), it only occurred to me after the fact — the fact being that we had a live Twitter feed provided at the event and I could have asked this question then — that this stuff might be good for that bruise.
During the presentation, the BB5 was represented as purely fool-proof for dry, irritated skin; as a ‘store-cupboard’ essential, as it is safe for use on infants and children; and as a miracle worker for those who have skin conditions the like of eczema. The results, as presented by Dr Geraldine Morrow and practice nurse Selene Daly, were compelling, and while I prefer to try and test products under the proper conditions, I didn’t really want to start cracking and peeling in order to determine its efficacy for myself.
I had forgotten about the bruise, you see, because it doesn’t hurt, even though it is gobsmackingly colourful, and massive.
Now, I had used the regular Cicaplast, which is generally used after skin treatments like peels, on the bit of my shin that had gotten kicked by a horse, and talked about it here — this post is turning into links within links, but the thing is: will the new stuff do the job, or is the other stuff the way to go?
The damn thing is big enough to try them both simultaneously… ah, sure, feck it, may as well try the new stuff. It’s not like it’s going to make it worse.
Okay, took this photo yesterday {photographing your own arm is very difficult.} Now, you can see that it is healing, but it’s still got a ways to go. I applied the BB5, and found the texture to be light and soothing, and the absorption rate to be very good.
Don’t squeeze out too much, because it’s unnecessary. The coverage is excellent.
I spent a long-ish day at the laptop yesterday, and so applied more before I went out to co-facilitate the writing workshop I’m doing in Blackrock*. I was wearing a short-sleeved dress-top, and no one recoiled at the sight of my arm.
Huh! This is today’s shot. Look how all the black is gone, and the whole thing is turning that awful yellow, which means it is really on the road to recovery.
Now, I’m no doctor, but I am something of a bruise expert, having always been a tender peach, and this is pretty remarkable.
I am fairly certain that there will be other bruises with which to conduct experiments from the beginning, so stay tuned. Unless they are on my arse — been known to happen! – then you’ll just have to take my word for it.
*Follow me on Twitter @SusanEConley, for updates on upcoming workshops.
The Patron Saint of Bright & Beautyfull! is Saint Anthony
This is a Catholic thing, you mightn’t understand.
After I posted The Lament of My Thomas Sabo Charm Bracelet yesterday, I got up and went through the cupboards again. Since I had purged so much before I moved — and even during — I knew this was a pointless endeavour. Equally, though, I knew that I hadn’t thrown out a bag of stuff by mistake, or left anything behind in the old flat, or made the bracelet disappear with the power of my mind.
So I did what any right thinking person would do, and asked Saint Anthony:
Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony,
Please come around.
Something is lost and can’t be found.
Saint Anthony, where is my _____________???
He doesn’t seem to mind if you insert ‘effing, shagging, arse-ing’ before the name of the lost object, but I do try to watch my language.
Then, seriously, the thing that happens is, you get a thought in your mind that won’t go away. Like, you head right for that shoulder bag you haven’t used in ages, or you go to a drawer that you are positive you looked through thoroughly.
So when I found myself standing in front of one particular cupboard in my bedroom, I felt a surge of hope. I had been through the two file boxes that were behind that door, even though I was sure I wouldn’t have tried to wedge the little stripey jewellery box thing into one of them. But who knew, really? I was fairly insane from last Tuesday to this past Sunday.
Whatever, Saint Anthony, I thought, as I opened the door — and then I remembered! That Sketchers bag, the one I use when I go swimming! Maybe I put the stuff in there! Continue reading
Bright & Beautyfull! 