I can only be frank when I say that it has been a very long time since I last wrote. The reasons behind this are simple: University has now taken over my life, consuming all time I had for work, leaving me hollow and empty. I no longer work the hours I used to, thus the lack in posts.
I have narrowed down my resolutions to these:
1) Stop biting my nails. It's unattractive and immature.
2) Take control of my life and get on the path I want to be on for my own future.
3) Stop trying to make other people happy whilst ignoring my own happiness.
4) Start saving money. Properly. In an ISA type thing.
5) Grow up. As much as possible. But not in a boring and adultish way.
6) SAY YES MORE! (A reference to the new Jim Carrey movie - YesMan, which all should see!)
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Tuesday, 16 September 2008
Why do they do that?
There seems to be an influx of people walking past the shop, looking through the door and then standing in the doorway for what seems like a lifetime! Whether you're smoking, eating or just trying to get out of the rain, either come in - or get lost!
Life is, after all, a mystery.
I just got a text from my SO. He aced a phone interview and is now waiting for the next stage! Hurray!
Meanwhile, I sit alone in a boutique. I have sold one dress, which is good. There are a lot of new dresses in, one of which I've got an eye on. It's very cute, although also very small. Sadly, I seem to have gained a bit of weight over the summer with a delicate combination of no exercise and a lot of food. I enjoy eating out as well (costly in so many ways), which probably doesn't help. I do enjoy swimming, but I was doing back flips into the pool yesterday and I could feel my stomach muscles stretching and it actually hurt. It was either the muscles stretching, or I was ripping my belly button piercing. Either or.
Back to reality.
Sigh. It always pains me to come back to reality after going on holiday or even just having some time off. I've spent the last week on holiday with my significant other, whose family lives in the countryside. Now, whilst I'm not exactly a country bumpkin, I'm not a city gal either. I sway from side to side. But once I arrived, I seemed almost foreign to the fields, much of which was brought out by the fact that I don't and wouldn't own wellies or a rain mac. But this doesn't bother me. I don't mind being muddy. I don't mind being wet. It doesn't bother me if my hair is ruined, or if I need to wash my jeans after walking the dogs.
I had a great time. The place is so quiet and picturesque it's hard to feel stressed. Relaxing in front of a log fire can't be beaten. Driving around the countryside with my other half, singing to old songs and chatting about life was fab. Visiting the horse and driving 8 miles to get milk was fun. Loved it.
But now, I'm back. The shock was harsh this morning. Especially since I had to rely on public transport to get to work. Surprisingly, it turned up early and nobody got on, so it was a pretty quick journey. Now I'm working my way through a long list of tasks to do, which involves a lot of phone calls and stock invoicing. It's hard to explain, but a place can carry its own burden. As soon as I arrived back here, the stress that I feel here was firmly on my shoulders. Suddenly, everything seems real. Now I'm back to my usual stressed self, worrying about timetables and work shifts, freshers week and helping my significant other to get a job. It's all very grown-up and terrifying. I'm only nineteen. I have no experience with unemployment, rental contracts and being in debt. But I have to face it because he has to face it, so we're facing it together. Saving is out of the window until he finds a job, because right now I'm the breadwinner.
It's harder than it seems to get a job. I always thought it was quite easy. My mum has never had a problem. She applies, interviews well and lands the job. My dad took a bit more effort when we moved here, but within weeks, he had his job. My brother is lazy, and so doesn't count. I think he hopes jobs will land on his door and he'll have to rifle through for the easiest/highest paid. But my significant other is proving a bit more tricky. But we're working hard to get one, whatever it may be. Not exactly being fussy right now. He just needs money to pay his rent and to pay his parents back for paying his rent.
Life is most definately a beach.
I had a great time. The place is so quiet and picturesque it's hard to feel stressed. Relaxing in front of a log fire can't be beaten. Driving around the countryside with my other half, singing to old songs and chatting about life was fab. Visiting the horse and driving 8 miles to get milk was fun. Loved it.
But now, I'm back. The shock was harsh this morning. Especially since I had to rely on public transport to get to work. Surprisingly, it turned up early and nobody got on, so it was a pretty quick journey. Now I'm working my way through a long list of tasks to do, which involves a lot of phone calls and stock invoicing. It's hard to explain, but a place can carry its own burden. As soon as I arrived back here, the stress that I feel here was firmly on my shoulders. Suddenly, everything seems real. Now I'm back to my usual stressed self, worrying about timetables and work shifts, freshers week and helping my significant other to get a job. It's all very grown-up and terrifying. I'm only nineteen. I have no experience with unemployment, rental contracts and being in debt. But I have to face it because he has to face it, so we're facing it together. Saving is out of the window until he finds a job, because right now I'm the breadwinner.
It's harder than it seems to get a job. I always thought it was quite easy. My mum has never had a problem. She applies, interviews well and lands the job. My dad took a bit more effort when we moved here, but within weeks, he had his job. My brother is lazy, and so doesn't count. I think he hopes jobs will land on his door and he'll have to rifle through for the easiest/highest paid. But my significant other is proving a bit more tricky. But we're working hard to get one, whatever it may be. Not exactly being fussy right now. He just needs money to pay his rent and to pay his parents back for paying his rent.
Life is most definately a beach.
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
T-shirt fetish.
I absolutely love t-shirts. I think it stems from a long ago time when I loved t-shirts...
My brother and I both shop mostly at Threadless, but I like to explore the other great unknowns out there and get them known back here in the UK. So, for my brothers birthday this year, I went exploring. I wanted a christian shirt that wasn't quite as overt as the usual, and I wanted it to be stylish enough that he would actually wear it. I thought I'd set myself quite a challenge, but that's when I stumbled across JesusBranded.
Upon browsing the site, I instantly knew that I liked it. It wasn't "in your face", it had really cool styles, and it was to my own taste. I was left choosing between a number of t-shirts that I knew my brother would like, and in the end settled for an amazing number which had Amen written in white ink across it. He loved it.
So yes - not just a pretty face and dress salesperson - I am also a t-shirt hoarder, urging and encouraging everybody to join me! Check out these sites - you won't regret it!
My brother and I both shop mostly at Threadless, but I like to explore the other great unknowns out there and get them known back here in the UK. So, for my brothers birthday this year, I went exploring. I wanted a christian shirt that wasn't quite as overt as the usual, and I wanted it to be stylish enough that he would actually wear it. I thought I'd set myself quite a challenge, but that's when I stumbled across JesusBranded.
Upon browsing the site, I instantly knew that I liked it. It wasn't "in your face", it had really cool styles, and it was to my own taste. I was left choosing between a number of t-shirts that I knew my brother would like, and in the end settled for an amazing number which had Amen written in white ink across it. He loved it.
So yes - not just a pretty face and dress salesperson - I am also a t-shirt hoarder, urging and encouraging everybody to join me! Check out these sites - you won't regret it!
Tuesday, 2 September 2008
Aaaaah.
The only dress that I have sold today, was to a man.
Admittedly, it was for his daughter, but I think that sums up the excitement of my day.
I am now sitting seething with rage at my significant other for e-mailing people without checking his work for spelling and grammatical errors. Being an English major, I do this constantly. Not just to my work, to everybody elses when I am present. I cannot help it, so it really irks me when he doesn't do it. It just looks bad and unprofessional when it comes across and an I isn't capitalised, or you misplaced a letter.
Anyway, rant over. I've got a movie night with the girls tonight. I'm meeting some of my friends roommates, which should be good fun. Naturally, I am the supplier of the movies, since I spend around three quarters of my life either buying or watching movies. Sigh. I love film.
I really wish my hair was long enough to tumble gracefull down my back. I even with I could get my hair into a ponytail without having to resort to using a rubber band, as it is the only thing that holds my hair into place. With anything else, the hair just tumbles out. Not gracefully.
Sigh.
Admittedly, it was for his daughter, but I think that sums up the excitement of my day.
I am now sitting seething with rage at my significant other for e-mailing people without checking his work for spelling and grammatical errors. Being an English major, I do this constantly. Not just to my work, to everybody elses when I am present. I cannot help it, so it really irks me when he doesn't do it. It just looks bad and unprofessional when it comes across and an I isn't capitalised, or you misplaced a letter.
Anyway, rant over. I've got a movie night with the girls tonight. I'm meeting some of my friends roommates, which should be good fun. Naturally, I am the supplier of the movies, since I spend around three quarters of my life either buying or watching movies. Sigh. I love film.
I really wish my hair was long enough to tumble gracefull down my back. I even with I could get my hair into a ponytail without having to resort to using a rubber band, as it is the only thing that holds my hair into place. With anything else, the hair just tumbles out. Not gracefully.
Sigh.
Burning man.
Ok, so the title should probably read "burning hand", but it's comical in reference to the festival. Anyway. I've just found a dress with a gigantic water stain on it. Most likely from when we had the flood, so not too shocking. Spent a while using the steamer to get the stain lifted, but I mostly just burnt my hand. Painful. And I don't think the stain budged. Stubborn thing. I'll have another go later.
Update on death stare..
This is an update on a previous post, one where I explained that I had to refuse a sale to a customer because the particular style of dress had already been sold to her particular function. Update: Women are bitches. I just found out that the women tracked down another supplier of the dress and has had one commissioned for her anyway, regardless of the other girl going to her function. And that was how *we* found out. The customer who bought the dress first bought it for her daughter, who was approached by the rejected customer and informed that the girl had bought the dress anyway. How bitchy is this situation? What makes it more horrendous is that a mother would actually condone this kind of behaviour - and pay for it, too. It's the one special night that you get with all your friends and you want a special dress. But you can't have it because a bitter girl has gone out of her way to make sure you don't have a special dress.
Bitch.
Bitch.
Friendship.
Friendship is a funny thing. Quite fickle, sometimes frail, but mainly just funny. My best friend and I have been "best friends" since school, when we came as a pair. There was no one or the other, merely both. It was quite a feat when you got one of us on our own. Great times. But, things change. By the time summer was over, we had meandered into a time where we hardly spoke, let alone actually met up. Now, you're probably thinking that we'd gone off to University and that it was totally understandable. What hurts the guilty part of my mind most is the fact that neither of us actually left our city. We didn't even move out. She went to college, I went to Uni. In the same city. We were minutes from each other, all day, every day. We never saw each other, never spoke, bar a quick text fired mainly to apologise or to pull out of a planned rendezvous.
I am notoriously bad at keeping in touch with people. It will normally result in silence for weeks or months, years depending on how distant we were in the first place. Then, out of the blue, something will spur me to text, email or write and find out just what's been happening in their life. This new-found relationship will last for a short while before heading right back into its pitiful previous state of affairs.
At school, our group was large. I'm talking twenty-plus people at one time. Once you narrow that down to the people that you actually gel with properly and have a relationship with, you're down to maybe ten or so. Then watch as six or seven of the ten head off to different cities for University, and you're left in a big city with barely any friends. I live ten minutes from my best friend - five if I drive - yet we never see each other. Same excuses, different time. I work, she works, she's hanging out with friends, I'm seeing my boyfriend, she's hanging out with hers.
It's a hard thing to admit that I can't even communicate with my "best friend" who lives five minutes away by car. I could blow smoke signals out of my bedroom window and she'd probably see, she's that close. It's so easy to let a friendship crumble, even one that was built with such good foundations. Resolution: fix friendship; learn smoke signals.
I am notoriously bad at keeping in touch with people. It will normally result in silence for weeks or months, years depending on how distant we were in the first place. Then, out of the blue, something will spur me to text, email or write and find out just what's been happening in their life. This new-found relationship will last for a short while before heading right back into its pitiful previous state of affairs.
At school, our group was large. I'm talking twenty-plus people at one time. Once you narrow that down to the people that you actually gel with properly and have a relationship with, you're down to maybe ten or so. Then watch as six or seven of the ten head off to different cities for University, and you're left in a big city with barely any friends. I live ten minutes from my best friend - five if I drive - yet we never see each other. Same excuses, different time. I work, she works, she's hanging out with friends, I'm seeing my boyfriend, she's hanging out with hers.
It's a hard thing to admit that I can't even communicate with my "best friend" who lives five minutes away by car. I could blow smoke signals out of my bedroom window and she'd probably see, she's that close. It's so easy to let a friendship crumble, even one that was built with such good foundations. Resolution: fix friendship; learn smoke signals.
Monday, 18 August 2008
Lastminute.com
As I sit in the shop, singing aloud to Shania Twain and generally looking like a social misfit, I am going to try to relive Saturday in my mind.
Saturday happened to be the day of a large executive ball held in our city. The women who attend are notoriously last-minute; some have excuses, some don't. It's like a whirlwind in a day.
Anyway, so Saturday morning rolled around far too quickly, seeing as I'd been out for the night and crawled home at 4am. The day was crammed full of women who needed dresses for the evening, regardless of price. This is a very stressful exercise, because we are now looking for any dress that might not need altered to fit and we also can't sell two of the same to the function.
A high-flying customer of ours dashed in mid-way through the day, leaving her taxi driver parked outside the shop. She'd flown in from Singapore that day, and taken the taxi straight from the airport to the shop to buy a dress. She was like a blustering wind - I felt exhausted just from her 5 minute sprint around the shop. At least she purchased something in this time. Tiring. I nearly collapsed around 3pm, which is when my boss left me alone in the midst of the chaos, because she had to go to the function herself. Luckily, another colleague came in to assist, and peace was restored.
Saturday happened to be the day of a large executive ball held in our city. The women who attend are notoriously last-minute; some have excuses, some don't. It's like a whirlwind in a day.
Anyway, so Saturday morning rolled around far too quickly, seeing as I'd been out for the night and crawled home at 4am. The day was crammed full of women who needed dresses for the evening, regardless of price. This is a very stressful exercise, because we are now looking for any dress that might not need altered to fit and we also can't sell two of the same to the function.
A high-flying customer of ours dashed in mid-way through the day, leaving her taxi driver parked outside the shop. She'd flown in from Singapore that day, and taken the taxi straight from the airport to the shop to buy a dress. She was like a blustering wind - I felt exhausted just from her 5 minute sprint around the shop. At least she purchased something in this time. Tiring. I nearly collapsed around 3pm, which is when my boss left me alone in the midst of the chaos, because she had to go to the function herself. Luckily, another colleague came in to assist, and peace was restored.
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
Quaking in my brogues..!
We have a policy that we can't break for anyone. Our policy is to only sell one of a style of dress to a function. We note down where all the dresses go, and refuse sales if there's already one style going, just to save someone turning up and looking like a tit. Anyway, I had to refuse a sale today, and it didn't go down too well. They didn't seem to understand why I couldn't sell the style if it was in a different colour... If looks could kill, I'd be decomposing by now. I was actually quite scared. It's not my fault! We're trying to save you embarassment! If you want a dress that everyone else has, go to Coast or Monsoon!
Public. Transport.
Anyone who has ever had to make the jump from driving a car to taking a bus will know the trials that you face on such a journey. It was not my turn for the car today, so I set my alarm a bit earlier so that I could make it to the bus in time to actually make it to work. I arrived at the bus stop at 9.20am, giving me plenty of time to reach work before I was due to open. However, I did not allow for the fact that all buses are pathetic. My bus trailed in at 9.41am, and after picking up numerous pensioners, we finally left my *village* at 9.50am. Now, my village isn't particularly close to the centre of town, hence the 40 minute bus journey. It was now left to prayer that we might arrive somewhere in the ten minute bracket that had just opened up, but there wasn't a chance. We all knew that. All the pensioners going 2 stops down the road knew that.
Sigh. At least we picked up some speed on a long straight where nobody actually lives, which meant nobody got off and nobody got on for a while. When I eventually got off the bus, I had to speedwalk up to the boutique, as the nearest bus stop is miles away. I was late, obviously. Not as bad as I'd thought, but still late. Not exactly worth getting up earlier for.
I had quite an amusing evening last night. I've been a bit tired lately (anaemia), so my SO and myself have just been kicking back like an old married couple. We watch telly, walk the dog, maybe watch a movie and then go to bed. I haven't been up to anything exciting for a while. Although, that said, we did take a day trip up to the beach last week, which was lovely.
Anyway. So with another night of telly looming ahead of us, I quickly accepted when my dad invited us to B&Q with him. I offered my SO the front seat, something that rarely happens, so it was rather amusing when my father revealed that he wanted to return a length of guttering and that was the reason for the trip. His first try at fitting in the unusually long guttering was to get it in the boot, but so that it hung out of the front window. This involved particular embarassment for my SO, who was condemned to look after the guttering which was hanging out of the window quite a long way. As we picked up speed, however, it started flapping in quite a dangerous manner, so we knew we had to try to fit it in differently. The only other option was to have the extra guttering hanging out of the boot with the boot tied down, but we didn't have rope. The solution was obvious. I had to lie in the boot and stop the boot from flying open. I was gutted. All the teasing I'd done of my SO was invalid, because now I looked like a tit for lying in a car boot hanging onto the roof. I think the trip has spurred us to go out and do things, but I'm just waiting on my doctors appointment to stock up on pills.
I've got a surprise party tonight. The last surprise party I went to ended disastrously when we arrived at the same time as the surprisee and had to walk up his drive *with* him, carrying presents and trying to be nonchalant as to why we'd turned up.. Quite amusing, really. But tonight should be good. Although I only know 4 people going and I'm not sure the surprise part has been arranged too well, but it should be good. Optimism is best.
I'm starving. I'm off to buy a pie...
Sigh. At least we picked up some speed on a long straight where nobody actually lives, which meant nobody got off and nobody got on for a while. When I eventually got off the bus, I had to speedwalk up to the boutique, as the nearest bus stop is miles away. I was late, obviously. Not as bad as I'd thought, but still late. Not exactly worth getting up earlier for.
I had quite an amusing evening last night. I've been a bit tired lately (anaemia), so my SO and myself have just been kicking back like an old married couple. We watch telly, walk the dog, maybe watch a movie and then go to bed. I haven't been up to anything exciting for a while. Although, that said, we did take a day trip up to the beach last week, which was lovely.
Anyway. So with another night of telly looming ahead of us, I quickly accepted when my dad invited us to B&Q with him. I offered my SO the front seat, something that rarely happens, so it was rather amusing when my father revealed that he wanted to return a length of guttering and that was the reason for the trip. His first try at fitting in the unusually long guttering was to get it in the boot, but so that it hung out of the front window. This involved particular embarassment for my SO, who was condemned to look after the guttering which was hanging out of the window quite a long way. As we picked up speed, however, it started flapping in quite a dangerous manner, so we knew we had to try to fit it in differently. The only other option was to have the extra guttering hanging out of the boot with the boot tied down, but we didn't have rope. The solution was obvious. I had to lie in the boot and stop the boot from flying open. I was gutted. All the teasing I'd done of my SO was invalid, because now I looked like a tit for lying in a car boot hanging onto the roof. I think the trip has spurred us to go out and do things, but I'm just waiting on my doctors appointment to stock up on pills.
I've got a surprise party tonight. The last surprise party I went to ended disastrously when we arrived at the same time as the surprisee and had to walk up his drive *with* him, carrying presents and trying to be nonchalant as to why we'd turned up.. Quite amusing, really. But tonight should be good. Although I only know 4 people going and I'm not sure the surprise part has been arranged too well, but it should be good. Optimism is best.
I'm starving. I'm off to buy a pie...
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
D.I.Y. Tattoos..not recommended.
So it's nearly half-past two in the afternoon, and I'm now SO bored, I've started drawing on myself with permanenet marker. I now look like a mini-mod and have to hide my inks from the customers, who may just look down on me. Nobody came in until 1.30pm today. Not a soul. It had to be the most soul-destroying morning. To entertain myself these past few days, I've been property-hunting. Very entertaining, but I seem to have developed a thing about getting attached to the houses and wanting them. Shame I can't afford them whatsoever. It's also caused some rifts with me and the boyfriend, as discussing how we'd kit out a flat. Apparently we don't share the same taste in living room furniture as I'd previously thought...
Wednesday, 30 July 2008
I think my soul died yesterday..
You know those nights where you cannot sleep, nor can you get even the slightest bit comfortable? Thus, you end up shuffling and swearing, sweating and throwing the duvet around, punching pillows and crying. I had one of those nights last night. Admittedly, it was my own fault. I spend the day in my pjs, watched 11 hours of television (I kid you not) and drank approximately 2 litres of diet coke. My body basically told me to get lost when I tried to go to sleep.
That's why I slept in this morning. That, and my stupid technological phone is a numpty. My alarm clock hasn't been too well lately, and because I now don't trust my alarm clock, I've been using my phone alarm. Which didn't go off. So I don't trust anything which claims to be an alarm anymore.
When I woke up at 10.30am, I thought my alarm clock was joking. Then I thought my phone was joking. Then I panicked, phoned my boss, begged for mercy, and got a stand-in until I got myself there. I basically threw myself in the shower, squeezed some shampoo on my hair, rinsed it as fast as possible and jumped out of the shower. No shower gel, no exfoliator, no shaving. Just shampoo. Then I ran into my room, dripped water over my phone and laptop, cursed at the fact that my phone's touchscreen wasn't working and roughly towelled off. Then I grabbed a dress from the cupboard, pulled on some tights, combed my sodden mess of hair into a normal style and ran around the house. I threw a biscuit at the dog, threw a cereal bar into my bag, grabbed my purse and change for the bus and legged it. Yes, the bus. I don't even have the car this week, as my brother has gone camping and decided he needed it. Fair enough, really. So I legged it down to the bus, where the bus driver was outside having a chin-waggle with an old friend of his. I was waved onto the bus, where I sat fidgeting whilst the driver finished his conversation ten minutes later. I really dislike getting the bus in the morning, which is why I normally drive to Uni. Every single stop has a gaggle of pensioners waiting to get on, and then they only travel for 2 stops at the most and get off. WALK, DAMMIT! They just clog up the bus system.
So I finally got to work, sweating, hair wet, no makeup, and had a cup of tea with my stand-in.
I now have to go and choose a new alarm clock. I would try new batteries in my old alarm clock, but I really just don't trust it anymore. It's sad, not trusting small electrical appliances. I'll miss being woken by the radio. Pros and cons, though. You can either get woken by a nice flute orchestra playing mellow and happy music, or you'll get something loud with drums which is guaranteed to put anyone into a bad mood in the morning.
So I have a day of fun planned with my best friend tomorrow, and as she spends her wages on CDs and beer, we have to restrict ourselves to only cheap fun. I've got a few things up my sleeve, depending on how much fun she wants to have, but she's already let me know that we're going to a gig in the evening, which is nice. She's arranging a poetry reading evening for sometime in the unforeseen future and has requested that I am in the line-up. Very exciting.
That's why I slept in this morning. That, and my stupid technological phone is a numpty. My alarm clock hasn't been too well lately, and because I now don't trust my alarm clock, I've been using my phone alarm. Which didn't go off. So I don't trust anything which claims to be an alarm anymore.
When I woke up at 10.30am, I thought my alarm clock was joking. Then I thought my phone was joking. Then I panicked, phoned my boss, begged for mercy, and got a stand-in until I got myself there. I basically threw myself in the shower, squeezed some shampoo on my hair, rinsed it as fast as possible and jumped out of the shower. No shower gel, no exfoliator, no shaving. Just shampoo. Then I ran into my room, dripped water over my phone and laptop, cursed at the fact that my phone's touchscreen wasn't working and roughly towelled off. Then I grabbed a dress from the cupboard, pulled on some tights, combed my sodden mess of hair into a normal style and ran around the house. I threw a biscuit at the dog, threw a cereal bar into my bag, grabbed my purse and change for the bus and legged it. Yes, the bus. I don't even have the car this week, as my brother has gone camping and decided he needed it. Fair enough, really. So I legged it down to the bus, where the bus driver was outside having a chin-waggle with an old friend of his. I was waved onto the bus, where I sat fidgeting whilst the driver finished his conversation ten minutes later. I really dislike getting the bus in the morning, which is why I normally drive to Uni. Every single stop has a gaggle of pensioners waiting to get on, and then they only travel for 2 stops at the most and get off. WALK, DAMMIT! They just clog up the bus system.
So I finally got to work, sweating, hair wet, no makeup, and had a cup of tea with my stand-in.
I now have to go and choose a new alarm clock. I would try new batteries in my old alarm clock, but I really just don't trust it anymore. It's sad, not trusting small electrical appliances. I'll miss being woken by the radio. Pros and cons, though. You can either get woken by a nice flute orchestra playing mellow and happy music, or you'll get something loud with drums which is guaranteed to put anyone into a bad mood in the morning.
So I have a day of fun planned with my best friend tomorrow, and as she spends her wages on CDs and beer, we have to restrict ourselves to only cheap fun. I've got a few things up my sleeve, depending on how much fun she wants to have, but she's already let me know that we're going to a gig in the evening, which is nice. She's arranging a poetry reading evening for sometime in the unforeseen future and has requested that I am in the line-up. Very exciting.
Monday, 28 July 2008
The despair of wedding season.
Wedding season has been well and truly upon us for a number of months now, and it doesn't seem to want to cease. It's becoming increasingly frustrating informing endless customers that we don't actually carry wedding outfits, watching their faces fall and then pack up their things and leave. It's not a personal thing; we just don't sell it. We're eveningwear specialists for a reason. We sell eveningwear.
So, with all these bedraggled customers marching their way out of our door, we haven't been getting the normal amount of custom. This means that it's even more soul-tearing to sit here all day during the week and direct people away to other shops which might suit their tastes and needs.
We should do an appointment system. That would sort out the wheat from the chaff. Get rid of all those unwanted "wedding enquirers" and allow the people who actually need an evening gown to come and get one.
Having attended my friends wedding this weekend, I know the strain of finding a wedding outfit - I can empathise with the customers, although only to a certain extent. I'm younger and thus have more pick of the bunch when it comes to outfits. I'm not limited to a tailored suit with a matching hat just yet. Plus, I was able to order my dress in specially - one of the perks of the job.
Plus I've already recieved my outfit for the next friends wedding I'm going to - and I bought the handbag already on quite a whim. I was perusing the fascinator section of Debenhams (a past-time of mine) and I spotted the exact colour of my dress in handbag form. Now, I'm not usually one for matching, but it was such a perfect match and so cheap that I couldn't resist.
I spoke to my brother about it whilst making chit-chat, and he pointedly said - "Why don't you sell wedding outfits, then?" to which I had no reply. We've discussed bringing in wedding outfits, but don't really know if it's a market we actually want to go into. There's only so much tailoring I can take.
Anyways. The shop is morbidly depressing. The sunshine is glorious, which makes me worried about the meatloaf that I have sitting in the back of my car, which was supposed to be thawing but might end up cooking instead. At least that'll save time later on. Apparently some man on the radio has confirmed that his temperature gauge read 33 degrees Celcius only five minutes ago. How amazing! I think tonight might call for another sunlit stroll along the beach. Luckily, my Significant Other lives in a penthouse on the beach, which makes it easy access to the beach and carnival, circus, etc. Might have another go on the waltzers. Did that the other night whilst waiting for my dinner table to open up in the restaurant we were going to before the cinema showing. On the waltzers, I managed to lose a flip-flop and flash most of the crowd that had gathered to watch. Tres embarassing, and all whilst I screamed the way round. Maturity at its epitome..
So, with all these bedraggled customers marching their way out of our door, we haven't been getting the normal amount of custom. This means that it's even more soul-tearing to sit here all day during the week and direct people away to other shops which might suit their tastes and needs.
We should do an appointment system. That would sort out the wheat from the chaff. Get rid of all those unwanted "wedding enquirers" and allow the people who actually need an evening gown to come and get one.
Having attended my friends wedding this weekend, I know the strain of finding a wedding outfit - I can empathise with the customers, although only to a certain extent. I'm younger and thus have more pick of the bunch when it comes to outfits. I'm not limited to a tailored suit with a matching hat just yet. Plus, I was able to order my dress in specially - one of the perks of the job.
Plus I've already recieved my outfit for the next friends wedding I'm going to - and I bought the handbag already on quite a whim. I was perusing the fascinator section of Debenhams (a past-time of mine) and I spotted the exact colour of my dress in handbag form. Now, I'm not usually one for matching, but it was such a perfect match and so cheap that I couldn't resist.
I spoke to my brother about it whilst making chit-chat, and he pointedly said - "Why don't you sell wedding outfits, then?" to which I had no reply. We've discussed bringing in wedding outfits, but don't really know if it's a market we actually want to go into. There's only so much tailoring I can take.
Anyways. The shop is morbidly depressing. The sunshine is glorious, which makes me worried about the meatloaf that I have sitting in the back of my car, which was supposed to be thawing but might end up cooking instead. At least that'll save time later on. Apparently some man on the radio has confirmed that his temperature gauge read 33 degrees Celcius only five minutes ago. How amazing! I think tonight might call for another sunlit stroll along the beach. Luckily, my Significant Other lives in a penthouse on the beach, which makes it easy access to the beach and carnival, circus, etc. Might have another go on the waltzers. Did that the other night whilst waiting for my dinner table to open up in the restaurant we were going to before the cinema showing. On the waltzers, I managed to lose a flip-flop and flash most of the crowd that had gathered to watch. Tres embarassing, and all whilst I screamed the way round. Maturity at its epitome..
Wednesday, 23 July 2008
The latest apple in my eye.
Before you ask, the chick in the shower to the left is not me. Nope - this photo depicts my latest obsession. Meet the Olympus Mju 1030.
Okay, admittedly it's not a DSLR, and that's what's holding me back from just going for it.
BUT - this camera has balls. Not literally; that's not what I go for in a camera. This camera is shockproof, shatterproof, crushproof, scratchproof, and heck, it's waterproof. How cool is that? When the day comes that I take the plunge and go scuba-diving, I'll be able to throw my digital camera in the water and get some shots. Not many people can do that! I keep hovering over the page, restraining myself from buying it...I'm not sure why. All the reviews are good, all the stats are what I'm looking for, I can basically throw this camera into an underwater rugby scrum and it would come out untouched.
Life in the goldfish bowl.
Sitting in my little glass box, I can vaguely see that the sunshine is glorious. I'm talking heavenly standards. It was certainly toastily warm when I drove my little car to work this morning, and it was certainly toasty as I walked from the car park to the door, so I'm guessing it's still toasty...but I can't feel it. Damn air conditioning. The one day of summer Britain might actually get, and I'm inside. At least I'm getting paid for every hour I'm not allowed to be outside...
I'm the type of gal whose motto works out to be something like, "God bless the great *indoors*".
I don't tan very well, and I become quite fidgety in direct heat. I'd much prefer to be in the pool getting a tan, or getting a tan whilst being fanned by toned men in trunks. Either or. Since I departed the Middle East forever, my tan has faded into nothing but a mere memory. I keep stumbling across photos of a bronzed girl with long flowing blonde hair and then catching a glimpse of the remains in the mirror. Pale, short brown hair..Where did it all go wrong? I realise that my hair isn't going to be blonde anymore because there is no direct sunlight hitting my locks, and I realise that I can't spend all of my time worshipping fake tan. But still - it seems like a hefty fall from a pretty nice position.
If you were wondering what this has to do with the boutique, it has nothing to do with the boutique. Nobody in their right mind would brave the sweltering heat to come into a shop and put on an expensive gown. It's just logic. I knew it would be like this, so I'm not too concerned. It gives me a chance to kick back and write a lot. Occasionally I turn up the radio and sing along.
Actually, we have had people in the shop, but they were two pre-pubescent girls who giggled a lot and sang along with the radio, fingered every dress and then vanished, off to giggle at other things.
I'm the type of gal whose motto works out to be something like, "God bless the great *indoors*".
I don't tan very well, and I become quite fidgety in direct heat. I'd much prefer to be in the pool getting a tan, or getting a tan whilst being fanned by toned men in trunks. Either or. Since I departed the Middle East forever, my tan has faded into nothing but a mere memory. I keep stumbling across photos of a bronzed girl with long flowing blonde hair and then catching a glimpse of the remains in the mirror. Pale, short brown hair..Where did it all go wrong? I realise that my hair isn't going to be blonde anymore because there is no direct sunlight hitting my locks, and I realise that I can't spend all of my time worshipping fake tan. But still - it seems like a hefty fall from a pretty nice position.
If you were wondering what this has to do with the boutique, it has nothing to do with the boutique. Nobody in their right mind would brave the sweltering heat to come into a shop and put on an expensive gown. It's just logic. I knew it would be like this, so I'm not too concerned. It gives me a chance to kick back and write a lot. Occasionally I turn up the radio and sing along.
Actually, we have had people in the shop, but they were two pre-pubescent girls who giggled a lot and sang along with the radio, fingered every dress and then vanished, off to giggle at other things.
Monday, 21 July 2008
Why me??
I don't quite understand why people come into the boutique and ask whether we have a wrap or something to match their dress. I say we have none. They then proceed to whip out their purchases and parade them. What am I supposed to do about that? So I coo over their purchases and apologise for having no jacket that matches the exact pattering of their dress or shoes or scarf. Geez.
One of the most random times was when a women came into the shop with a dress that she'd bought in *another* shop and asked for *my* advice on why the ruching wasn't lying flat. I told her I have no expertise in the area - I just sell the dresses. Occasionally I make witty remarks and small-talk. I do not mend, patch, darn or advise about garments. When it became clear that I was of no help, the customer decided to track down my manager of her own accord and show her the ruching. Strange. I'd understand if she'd bought the dress from the shop, but bringing a random dress from a random shop in and asking a teenagers advice about it...? Don't think so.
One of the most random times was when a women came into the shop with a dress that she'd bought in *another* shop and asked for *my* advice on why the ruching wasn't lying flat. I told her I have no expertise in the area - I just sell the dresses. Occasionally I make witty remarks and small-talk. I do not mend, patch, darn or advise about garments. When it became clear that I was of no help, the customer decided to track down my manager of her own accord and show her the ruching. Strange. I'd understand if she'd bought the dress from the shop, but bringing a random dress from a random shop in and asking a teenagers advice about it...? Don't think so.
There seems to be a severe lack of personality here..
My parents are often informing me of my lack of social skills, which I find constructive in the sense that it makes me realise how much of a failure I really am. When I was younger, whenever somebody asked me a question, I had a habit of answering the question via my mother. It would go something like: "How's school going?" I'd respond with a look at my mum, "It's alright, wouldn't you say, mum?" And so forth. Thankfully, I don't do that anymore. I'm more than capable of articulating my own sentences and holding up my end of a conversation. Anyway, this was brought to mind when a pair of customers entered the boutique in search of a dress.
There are some customers who seem to radiate a sense of confidence, of happiness and a joy of self. And then there are some customers who do not. Some customers have no sense of self, for some reason. I don't know whether they left it somewhere, whether somebody stole it, or whatever the circumstances may be for this loss. I have a certain dislike for dealing with these customers, because in comparison, I appear gawky and exuberant. Bubbly and OTT. I'm not. I don't really like coming across as this because it seems so fake. I'm normally just sarcastic and chatty. Anyway. Mother and daughter team of customers looking for a mother-of-the-bride costume. Argh. I was facing a couple of people both in denial of sizing and a mother who lacked both a personality and self-esteem. Every dress I showed her had to be approved of by her daughter, who seemed only capable of pulling out dresses in wrong sizes and forcing her mother into them. Pitiable.
This happens a lot in here. Mothers who seek the constant approval of others and daughters who don't seem to think about the feelings of the person they're forcing into a dress that they probably would only wear if they were twenty years younger. I mean, I do the same with my mother, but it's hard when it happens here.
There are some customers who seem to radiate a sense of confidence, of happiness and a joy of self. And then there are some customers who do not. Some customers have no sense of self, for some reason. I don't know whether they left it somewhere, whether somebody stole it, or whatever the circumstances may be for this loss. I have a certain dislike for dealing with these customers, because in comparison, I appear gawky and exuberant. Bubbly and OTT. I'm not. I don't really like coming across as this because it seems so fake. I'm normally just sarcastic and chatty. Anyway. Mother and daughter team of customers looking for a mother-of-the-bride costume. Argh. I was facing a couple of people both in denial of sizing and a mother who lacked both a personality and self-esteem. Every dress I showed her had to be approved of by her daughter, who seemed only capable of pulling out dresses in wrong sizes and forcing her mother into them. Pitiable.
This happens a lot in here. Mothers who seek the constant approval of others and daughters who don't seem to think about the feelings of the person they're forcing into a dress that they probably would only wear if they were twenty years younger. I mean, I do the same with my mother, but it's hard when it happens here.
Return of the wanderer..
I only went on holiday for 11 days, and my boss has turned the shop against me! Quite literally. I returned to work this morning after a family holiday, and every single piece of stock has been moved around! Colour co-ordination has been taken to the next level, rails have been added and taken away. One of my key skills as a shop assistant is my ability to pinpoint the location of every garment. Good luck now. I'll just point customers vaguely to the colour section and hope they find something.. Joshing, naturally. I'll get used to it. We re-arrange every so often to trick our customers into thinking we've got hundreds of new stock and it lures them in and makes them spend an afternoon hunting through the newly moved rails. Muah ha ha.
My holiday was great, with the exception that my brother fled after only a week. To be fair, he had a recruitment day and he is jobless, so we thought his reasoning was valid. But still, it left me alone on holiday with the parentals, something I'm all too used to. We holiday down where my family lives, which happens to be where I attended boarding school, so its an unusual combination of emotions when we head down to my old stomping ground. I usually get a trifle paranoid that I might bump into somebody who knew me from before, and to be honest, I've managed to get rid of my former self, so meeting anyone who knew my former self may be self-destructive. I didn't like who I was when I lived there, thus the emotions become more complex. But, as you may or may not know, one of my favourite past-times for ridding myself of depression is changing my appearance. I've had my hairstyle changed more times than I've changed my sheets. Honestly. (I lack the cleaning gene..) So I wasn't too afraid of bumping into anybody I used to know because I don't look like me, and so they shouldn't technically be able recognise me. Or who I was. Or something like that.
The drive up was killer. We stayed overnight a few hours from where we were staying, partly to break up the drive a bit, and partly because we had a family function to attend. Obligatory duty. I've found more and more that adults don't seem to give a damn about teenagers, but I put on my best accent, best top and best manners and proved myself a worthy candidate amonst the chattering adultions. I think secretly they were just impressed that I wasn't a teenage mum and that I don't carry a knife.
But yes, the drive. Eight hours in a car with my parents isn't a big deal, per say. Having lived abroad, I am used to long plane rides, long car rides, and even longer awkward silences after bitterly arguing about how uncomfortable the Skoda is. It's not that bad, it was just that we managed to gain a few extra suitcases on the drive up, which spilled from the boot into the back seat until they were pretty much giving me a luggage lapdance. Not so pleasant. The dog had more room than I did. Plus my seatbelt didn't fasten the entire way up because the middle seat had been put down right onto the clasp part, so every time I tried to fasten it, it pinged back and hit my collarbone. Very irritating.
But as it were, I am sitting once more in the boutique. Nobody has crossed the threshold except myself and a friend of my boss, so my attention has been taken up by impulse buying on Amazon. I've managed to restrain from buying another camera, but it might not last that much longer. I'll keep you posted.
My holiday was great, with the exception that my brother fled after only a week. To be fair, he had a recruitment day and he is jobless, so we thought his reasoning was valid. But still, it left me alone on holiday with the parentals, something I'm all too used to. We holiday down where my family lives, which happens to be where I attended boarding school, so its an unusual combination of emotions when we head down to my old stomping ground. I usually get a trifle paranoid that I might bump into somebody who knew me from before, and to be honest, I've managed to get rid of my former self, so meeting anyone who knew my former self may be self-destructive. I didn't like who I was when I lived there, thus the emotions become more complex. But, as you may or may not know, one of my favourite past-times for ridding myself of depression is changing my appearance. I've had my hairstyle changed more times than I've changed my sheets. Honestly. (I lack the cleaning gene..) So I wasn't too afraid of bumping into anybody I used to know because I don't look like me, and so they shouldn't technically be able recognise me. Or who I was. Or something like that.
The drive up was killer. We stayed overnight a few hours from where we were staying, partly to break up the drive a bit, and partly because we had a family function to attend. Obligatory duty. I've found more and more that adults don't seem to give a damn about teenagers, but I put on my best accent, best top and best manners and proved myself a worthy candidate amonst the chattering adultions. I think secretly they were just impressed that I wasn't a teenage mum and that I don't carry a knife.
But yes, the drive. Eight hours in a car with my parents isn't a big deal, per say. Having lived abroad, I am used to long plane rides, long car rides, and even longer awkward silences after bitterly arguing about how uncomfortable the Skoda is. It's not that bad, it was just that we managed to gain a few extra suitcases on the drive up, which spilled from the boot into the back seat until they were pretty much giving me a luggage lapdance. Not so pleasant. The dog had more room than I did. Plus my seatbelt didn't fasten the entire way up because the middle seat had been put down right onto the clasp part, so every time I tried to fasten it, it pinged back and hit my collarbone. Very irritating.
But as it were, I am sitting once more in the boutique. Nobody has crossed the threshold except myself and a friend of my boss, so my attention has been taken up by impulse buying on Amazon. I've managed to restrain from buying another camera, but it might not last that much longer. I'll keep you posted.
Monday, 7 July 2008
VOGUE!
Just got the phone call. We're going to be in the September issue of Vogue, which focuses on "Boutique Chic". Apparently, we're the only boutique in our city which was approached, and it was purely on a reputational basis, as one of the Vogue colleagues has been to our boutique and forwarded it as a suggestion! Keep your eyes peeled, we're the next big thing!
When you're in a hurry..
Why are there so many obstacles when you are in a dire rush? Are they always there but just aren't so noticeable because you're not trying to overtake 8 buses and a taxi?
I had a slight emergency this morning, mostly my fault. A friend of my significant other passed away recently, so I took my SO's black suit to the dry cleaners to get ready for whenever the funeral would be. Organised, but about an hour after I dropped it off, we found out that the funeral would be tomorrow. Gutted. The suit wouldn't be ready - I checked. And when I called to see if I could pick it up without it being dry-cleaned or whether they could speed up the process, they said that they'd already doused it in chemicals, thus there was no-can-do. No suit for Significant Other.
So at midnight last night I was ironing his spare black trousers, he was ironing his white shirt and my mum was trying to find my dad's black tie. Nightmare. And at 9AM this morning, we made a dash to ASDA to find a cheap black blazer to finish the mourning look. Ended up dropping my SO at 10AM on the dot, the exact moment I was supposed to be putting my key in the shop door and welcoming our potential customers to spend their pay on our goods.
As soon as I hit my internal panic button, the entire geriatric population of the city appeared on the roads for their annual road trip to nowhere. My normal route takes me along a country road thats 60mph for a reason - it's a fast paced road; not for the light-hearted. Of course, the first granny decides that 60 is far too near her own age and drops it down to 35mph for comfort. Had to overtake her on the first of the mere 2 overtaking spots on the road. Then, out of nowhere, a car pulls out. Slowly. And for some reason, doesn't seem in a hurry to accelerate, even though there's a row of cars shoving up his rear doing at least 60mph. Overtook him on a semi-blind, fearing for my life and cursing the aged at the same time. I'll respect my elders when they learn to drive! Right, cooling down.
Onwards to the boutique, where I put my key in the lock at 10.14AM exactly. Not too bad. It's now an hour and a half later and one person has scoured our rails, so I'm assuming a slow day is ahead. The weekend was dire - about ten people came into the shop, mostly old people shopping for a bridesmaids dress for their cousins sisters dog walkers estranged transexual son. Muppets.
I had a slight emergency this morning, mostly my fault. A friend of my significant other passed away recently, so I took my SO's black suit to the dry cleaners to get ready for whenever the funeral would be. Organised, but about an hour after I dropped it off, we found out that the funeral would be tomorrow. Gutted. The suit wouldn't be ready - I checked. And when I called to see if I could pick it up without it being dry-cleaned or whether they could speed up the process, they said that they'd already doused it in chemicals, thus there was no-can-do. No suit for Significant Other.
So at midnight last night I was ironing his spare black trousers, he was ironing his white shirt and my mum was trying to find my dad's black tie. Nightmare. And at 9AM this morning, we made a dash to ASDA to find a cheap black blazer to finish the mourning look. Ended up dropping my SO at 10AM on the dot, the exact moment I was supposed to be putting my key in the shop door and welcoming our potential customers to spend their pay on our goods.
As soon as I hit my internal panic button, the entire geriatric population of the city appeared on the roads for their annual road trip to nowhere. My normal route takes me along a country road thats 60mph for a reason - it's a fast paced road; not for the light-hearted. Of course, the first granny decides that 60 is far too near her own age and drops it down to 35mph for comfort. Had to overtake her on the first of the mere 2 overtaking spots on the road. Then, out of nowhere, a car pulls out. Slowly. And for some reason, doesn't seem in a hurry to accelerate, even though there's a row of cars shoving up his rear doing at least 60mph. Overtook him on a semi-blind, fearing for my life and cursing the aged at the same time. I'll respect my elders when they learn to drive! Right, cooling down.
Onwards to the boutique, where I put my key in the lock at 10.14AM exactly. Not too bad. It's now an hour and a half later and one person has scoured our rails, so I'm assuming a slow day is ahead. The weekend was dire - about ten people came into the shop, mostly old people shopping for a bridesmaids dress for their cousins sisters dog walkers estranged transexual son. Muppets.
Monday, 16 June 2008
Who invented "One-Click Buy"?
You probably know what I'm talking about - those websites that have the option of buying with a mere click. No hassle of filling out forms or deciding whether to have it gift-wrapped - it's already done and dusted. I've had some problems with this function in the past, my most memorable was when I accidentally purchased a recipe book from those suffering from the menopause. Quickly cancelled that order...
But today I bought a camera. And I didn't regret it either. 3 figures of my hard-earned cash were spent with one click. It shouldn't be allowed. I felt no pang of guilt, no option of backing out when I had to fill out the forms - it was just done.
It's a brilliant camera, by the way. I shall yet again upload a picture of it so you can all coo over its splendour. Very good price as well. I look forward to documenting my summer with it.
Sunday, 15 June 2008
Can never have too many of these.
As I sit in my significant other's penthouse apartment overlooking the sea, I realise that it is such a gorgeous night. For the UK, of course, that can mean anything. But what I love about the sky is the angry clouds - so much emotion curling across the sky, illuminated by pinks and hues and shadows of grey. Stunning. Imogen Heap is playing on the laptop, reminding us about the needless consumerism of our society, and I am thus reminded that I have fallen into the lap of materialism, giving a subconscious lapdance to shops and trends.
So anyway, just to prove myself wrong, I debuted my new green dress - (see the pic below) to what I can only say was a hesitant audience. Okay, so admittedly, I wore it to church, so I kind of saw it coming. And what's worse is that I was actually nervous about wearing it. Is it even brave to make such a statement if you're nervous about doing so in the first place? Does that make the bravery more commendable? I don't know. I'm pondering for no need, and a sandwich has just appeared beside me, so I shall bid you farewell for tonight.
So anyway, just to prove myself wrong, I debuted my new green dress - (see the pic below) to what I can only say was a hesitant audience. Okay, so admittedly, I wore it to church, so I kind of saw it coming. And what's worse is that I was actually nervous about wearing it. Is it even brave to make such a statement if you're nervous about doing so in the first place? Does that make the bravery more commendable? I don't know. I'm pondering for no need, and a sandwich has just appeared beside me, so I shall bid you farewell for tonight.
The heels from hell.
I'm not the kind of gal who wears heels to work, but when I go out on the razzle dazzle, I tend to throw on a pair. Last night was one of those nights. I'd purchased a pair of patent heels which were a tad higher than I normally go for, but because they were cushioned, I thought I would be fine.
So teetering down the hill to the bus, I thought, ok, they're a bit high, but they're not painful yet. Fast forward a couple of hours, and my feet are pretty much broken. The hours that they've spent contorted into the pretty yet disfunctional shape of my shoes have made them cry out in agony, and the hour I spent waiting for a taxi to get home didn't help. Quelle disastre. So I woke up this morning with the distinct feeling of being crippled and a vague knowledge that I'm not going to be wearing heels for a very long time now. The heels in question have been banished to a corner of my room, facing the wall in the hope that they will learn from their mistake and turn over a new leaf.
So teetering down the hill to the bus, I thought, ok, they're a bit high, but they're not painful yet. Fast forward a couple of hours, and my feet are pretty much broken. The hours that they've spent contorted into the pretty yet disfunctional shape of my shoes have made them cry out in agony, and the hour I spent waiting for a taxi to get home didn't help. Quelle disastre. So I woke up this morning with the distinct feeling of being crippled and a vague knowledge that I'm not going to be wearing heels for a very long time now. The heels in question have been banished to a corner of my room, facing the wall in the hope that they will learn from their mistake and turn over a new leaf.
Saturday, 14 June 2008
Relapse.
Okay, so I've had a slight relapse. I try not to buy as many of the dresses as I would like to purely because I don't have the funds available. But, seeing as I have quite a few functions this year, I've been keeping my eye open and my options wide in case something arrived that caught my fancy. So now I have two dresses hanging limply in the cupboard, waiting to spring to life once put on. Oh so beautiful, they are.
But enough about moi. The past few days have passed by peacefully and uneventfully. I wasn't working Thursday or Friday, hence the lack of posting, but I'm back today. On one of the days I was off, we recieved a dress that had been awol for about five months now. It was worn in a fashion show, but unfortunately somewhere along the line drink was spilled down it, and we left it in the group's capable hands to get it dry cleaned and returned. Took them a while and a few phone calls, but at least we got it back in the end.
I went on a trapse around the city with a friend doing some shopping-related errands, and I went to check out the vintage boutique that I'd been recommended by the owner. Cute little place - lots of stock in one area, and really nice pieces. Quite pricey, although I expect to go back and have a proper rummage. On a completely separate but quite related note, I was in the pharmacy looking for my usual £1 tube of tinted moisturiser. I asked a nearby saleswoman for her assistance at pointing out said tube because my eyes couldn't spot them anywhere. I was then led to the Dior counter, where a woman sat me down in a director's chair, took off my makeup, and covered me in the most expensive tinted moisturiser in the shop. Not only that, but she then re-did my makeup. I was completely sold. Now, I'm not one for expensive splurges, especially on things that come in a tube, but she made me feel so unbelievably good, I couldn't say no. Admittedly, she did put a trifle too much on, but that's the look, I suppose. You know the type of person who wears a *lot* of makeup, along with bleached extensions in their hair, acrylic nails, fake tan and a non-existent skirt? That's what I'd need to become to be able to pull off the amount of makeup I was wearing, but hey, I loved it.
But enough about moi. The past few days have passed by peacefully and uneventfully. I wasn't working Thursday or Friday, hence the lack of posting, but I'm back today. On one of the days I was off, we recieved a dress that had been awol for about five months now. It was worn in a fashion show, but unfortunately somewhere along the line drink was spilled down it, and we left it in the group's capable hands to get it dry cleaned and returned. Took them a while and a few phone calls, but at least we got it back in the end.
I went on a trapse around the city with a friend doing some shopping-related errands, and I went to check out the vintage boutique that I'd been recommended by the owner. Cute little place - lots of stock in one area, and really nice pieces. Quite pricey, although I expect to go back and have a proper rummage. On a completely separate but quite related note, I was in the pharmacy looking for my usual £1 tube of tinted moisturiser. I asked a nearby saleswoman for her assistance at pointing out said tube because my eyes couldn't spot them anywhere. I was then led to the Dior counter, where a woman sat me down in a director's chair, took off my makeup, and covered me in the most expensive tinted moisturiser in the shop. Not only that, but she then re-did my makeup. I was completely sold. Now, I'm not one for expensive splurges, especially on things that come in a tube, but she made me feel so unbelievably good, I couldn't say no. Admittedly, she did put a trifle too much on, but that's the look, I suppose. You know the type of person who wears a *lot* of makeup, along with bleached extensions in their hair, acrylic nails, fake tan and a non-existent skirt? That's what I'd need to become to be able to pull off the amount of makeup I was wearing, but hey, I loved it.
Wednesday, 11 June 2008
It's official. I *know* people.
As the title of this post suggests, I'm feeling rather smug right now. That's right - I *know* people. Okay, so here's the story. It's not actually exciting, just a feeling of being connected. I had a regular in trying on outfits for the swanky business awards ceremony as previously mentioned, and she'd fallen for a beautiful one which needed some work done to make it fit her perfectly. There was a slight time issue, by which I mean that the customer was due to attend a meeting. The solution? I picked up my telephone, called my contact, which was the best alterationist in the area, begged and pleaded down the phone, worked my magic and got him round to the shop to work on the dress in 5 minutes. In 10 it was pinned and ready to be taken away, ready for collection the following afternoon, approximately two hours before the lady would be wearing it to collect her award. Congratulations to her, by the way.
Ok, so I've established that nobody feels like shopping on a Wednesday...good to know. I myself am going shopping tomorrow; need to scout out some new black heels and just see what springs into my grasp. I'm also wondering if it's worth booking a hair appointment now to get some more blonde put in my hair before the wedding of some friends that I'm going to. I probably need to source some form of fake tan place. Sigh. Sometimes you have to pay the price for being British. When I lived abroad I was the talk of the tanning town, but now...pale as a white Corsa. How the tanned mighty have fallen.
It's the final of The Apprentice tonight! Whoop whoop! I'm so pleased with myself - over the past 12 weeks, I've not missed one single episode. Luckily, during term time, I had a really early class on a Thursday, so Wednesday became my "night in", and thus didn't miss any of The Apprentice. So yes. My thoughts on the situation are as follows:
Lee: Not sure about him. He's a bit of a "geezer", but his heart is in the right place. He lied on his CV to get where he is, and seems to have a chip on his shoulder about his educational background for some reason. Needs to get over that or it's going to hold him back. Too Londony when he talks, and can't seem to say "project" with the proper articulation that one would expect from someone who might just land the £100,000 job. Sugar may favour him because of his background, but we all saw how that panned out with Michelle from last year, who he hired because she was a checkout girl. Disaster. She got pregnant with another contestant and quit within 4 months, having lost the baby.
Claire: Mouthy biatch, seems a bit smug. Knows she's awesome. I like the change that seems to have come over her in the past few weeks, but Sugars people think this is just a facade and it could well be. She's good, but I think Sugar will have his reservations about hiring a female, to be honest, because of Michelle. However, that said, he may have regretted his decision about Ruth Badger (she was runner-up and also a mouthy biatch.) This regret may push Sugar to rectify his judgement and hire someone who's got the balls to speak up.
Alex: Don't really like him. He's young, he's cocky, and he doesn't seem loyal. Seems to avoid taking the blame quite a bit. Nah. Don't like him and wouldn't hire him.
Helene: Not much to say. She should have been fired a LONG time ago. Not sure why she's still there, to be honest. She's completely useless, too old for the job and wouldn't respect Sugar the way a younger competitor would. Doesn't have the skills required for the job. She'll be first to go, followed by Alex. Claire and Lee in the final two, I say.
Good luck to them all!
Ok, so I've established that nobody feels like shopping on a Wednesday...good to know. I myself am going shopping tomorrow; need to scout out some new black heels and just see what springs into my grasp. I'm also wondering if it's worth booking a hair appointment now to get some more blonde put in my hair before the wedding of some friends that I'm going to. I probably need to source some form of fake tan place. Sigh. Sometimes you have to pay the price for being British. When I lived abroad I was the talk of the tanning town, but now...pale as a white Corsa. How the tanned mighty have fallen.
It's the final of The Apprentice tonight! Whoop whoop! I'm so pleased with myself - over the past 12 weeks, I've not missed one single episode. Luckily, during term time, I had a really early class on a Thursday, so Wednesday became my "night in", and thus didn't miss any of The Apprentice. So yes. My thoughts on the situation are as follows:
Lee: Not sure about him. He's a bit of a "geezer", but his heart is in the right place. He lied on his CV to get where he is, and seems to have a chip on his shoulder about his educational background for some reason. Needs to get over that or it's going to hold him back. Too Londony when he talks, and can't seem to say "project" with the proper articulation that one would expect from someone who might just land the £100,000 job. Sugar may favour him because of his background, but we all saw how that panned out with Michelle from last year, who he hired because she was a checkout girl. Disaster. She got pregnant with another contestant and quit within 4 months, having lost the baby.
Claire: Mouthy biatch, seems a bit smug. Knows she's awesome. I like the change that seems to have come over her in the past few weeks, but Sugars people think this is just a facade and it could well be. She's good, but I think Sugar will have his reservations about hiring a female, to be honest, because of Michelle. However, that said, he may have regretted his decision about Ruth Badger (she was runner-up and also a mouthy biatch.) This regret may push Sugar to rectify his judgement and hire someone who's got the balls to speak up.
Alex: Don't really like him. He's young, he's cocky, and he doesn't seem loyal. Seems to avoid taking the blame quite a bit. Nah. Don't like him and wouldn't hire him.
Helene: Not much to say. She should have been fired a LONG time ago. Not sure why she's still there, to be honest. She's completely useless, too old for the job and wouldn't respect Sugar the way a younger competitor would. Doesn't have the skills required for the job. She'll be first to go, followed by Alex. Claire and Lee in the final two, I say.
Good luck to them all!
It's amazing who you meet in the dress industry.
So I just sold the most beautiful fawny gold bubble dress to a lovely lady. She was genuinely lovely. She brought her newborn in with her the first time she came to see the dress, and he was a charmer. She informed me that she owns one of the vintage boutiques in the city, to which I was surprised! I'm a major fan of vintage/retro/kitsch, but mainly buy my one-offs from a particular vintage boutique, and apart from that, either Etsy.com or I physically go to other cities. Now I have a new place to scout out, and better yet, they have a special order service so they can take in pieces just for you. Tres exciting. Must go have a cup of tea with her sometime!
If you couldn't guess, the shops a bit quiet today. I've got a woman coming in who's recieving some kind of swanky award and thus needs a showstopper, so I've picked out some of the best pieces for when she arrives. Apart from that, it's been phonecalls tracking down more dresses for people and posting out colour swatches to people who want to find the perfect shoes. It's a hard life.
But on a shimmeringly brighter note, I found out this morning that I have successfully passed first year of University! Yes, that's correct. Even the modules I had to take for my course yet had no interest in gained me high marks! It's amazing what you can do when you skive a term of Uni and study only the weeks before the exam!
My better half has the family visit coming up next week, of which I am currently enrolled to attend. I'll be honest, I'm absolutely terrified. I've been with him for 14 months now, and he stays at my house once a week, has dinner with my family at least twice a week, and we now call the room he stays in "his" bedroom. It's actually just the study, but whatever helps us sleep at night. So yeah, I'm feeling slightly panicky because I've never met his family. I don't even know their names. I've glimpsed his sister once, and she looked like she was a lovely person, but that didn't help. And to top it off, all I can think about is whether I should be myself, a slightly delusional teenage girl addicted to vintage clothing and dying my hair, or the more mature version of myself, a bit plain, articulate, doesn't make much of an impression. Actually, that just answered it. I'm pretty scared that they're terrified of me, my sense of style and how I come across, mostly because I only have 3 days to prove that I'm not insane and that I am in fact worthy of being their only son's girlfriend. BUT, I've ordered a vintage dress for the occasion, and it's a belter. I'm not sure how they'll cope with it. I love it to pieces, but from what I've heard, they're a bit more normal than I am. You'll see from the picture that it's gorgeous, but I don't know if its a bit much for a first impression. Ach well. I'll let you know how it goes down.
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
Ok, so I'm ordering the non-slutty red colour?
At the moment, nothing gives me more satisfaction than helping to design a unique corset and skirt set. There's just something about giving so many options that the customer is able to have every single detail tailored just to her desire. Give it 6 weeks of labour, and it's due to be delivered by a team of specialist corset worshippers. The box is slowly opened, the crisp paper unfolded, and there it is - the corset baby; a gift from heaven/a workroom down south. I've become the person you come to about corsets - I know them inside out, I know what would look awesome and what not to have. I know all about their boning and how good it feels to wear one. I've just placed a pretty damn stunning order for a customer, and I cannot wait to see it born. Obviously, the price is a bit of a factor, but once you've had one of these corsets on, price goes out of the window. You feel smug, womanly, curvy and beautiful - nobody will match your shape, and whilst you may not be eating, you'll still look poised and graceful because of the posture you are forced into. People pay for that kind of thing. I know I do - I've got a fully steel-boned corset and it's pretty much the best thing I own, clothes-wise. Truthfully, it hurts a bit, but that's just because I've eaten too many chippers recently and it just takes a bit more effort than normal to get it on. No worries.
Hi, I'm hoping you can help me...
It's so unbelievably tricky to track dresses down. I've just had to break the news to a lovely-sounding Glaswegian that the dress she was enquiring about wouldn't actually be arriving in America until late August, more than a month after the function she wanted to wear it to. Very sad. So, upon feeling very sorry for her, I've taken upon myself to track down similar dresses and email a list of my findings to her tomorrow. Wish me luck.
The day's going by very quietly, mostly because it's a beautiful day and no-one in their right minds would come and try on dresses. On a plus, the time is passing thoroughly quickly, because I've been on the phone to all kinds of people, discussing padded cups in dresses, how to spot-clean an evening gown and seeing if there is any chance of locating a last-season style. There's no chance of that, in case you were wondering. It was *so* last April of me to ask.
So I'm eating Skips and watching the mum-mobiles zoom past the window, circling the block looking for a parking space big enough to house their monster of a car. What's wrong with a Vauxhall Zafira, anyway?
Ah, the lunchtime swarm of school children. How lovely. There's nothing quite like seeing the innocence and naivety of our future leaders. Unfortunately, I'm still waiting to see these future leaders, because the only people that I see at lunchtime are what I like to politely call "yobs." Mostly the deliquent youth types; the kind that would happily drop-kick you in the face if it meant that they'd be able to steal your mobile, and then would probably video you with it afterwards. I cannot imagine what the country is going to be like in ten or twenty years, and I'm not even in my twenties yet, for goodness' sake! I'm talking about youth, from a youthful perspective. I grew up in fear and awe of elders. Being a first year at Secondary School actually meant something, and of course the sixth-years were the bees knees. Heads would turn when they walked through the hallway, and a hush would fall. Not anymore. I'm pretty sure I was called a "knob" by a young first year when I was a sixth-year.
There's just no respect. Of course, being the young rebellious type (cough cough), I understand slightly. Who is left to respect anymore? Bush is a joke, Blair was a disaster and Brown is even worse! All the world thinks about is themselves. I'm actually reaching the point where I'm glad I wasn't born a) male or b) in London, because statistically, I'd have been knifed or shot a long time ago.
Two strapping young men from my class at school just strutted past the window in their Sunday best. I wonder where they've taken upon themselves to work over the summer. Perhaps a lawyers office, or an estate agency. Maybe they're just out for a stroll and decided to neaten up. They look awfully old. They'll be carrying initial-stamped briefcases and canes tomorrow. How nonchalantly kitsch. Love it.
I had an argument last night with my significant other about doilies. We'd been watching "Location, Location, Location" (brilliant show) and were shocked that they could actually buy a 3-bedroom house for less than £100,000. No house like that would go for less than £175,000 around here. So, we were spurred to have a gander and see what we could actually find for under £100,000 in our area. Apart from the normal council houses and dingy flats, there was one house that I fell into its spell. I'm actually still in love with it. I'll see if I can upload the photo that did it for me, and the reason that we started arguing about doilies...
So the picture depicts my ideal living room. Old-fashioned, incredible stone-cladding and a vintage fireplace. I am in love with this property, but sadly, I can't afford it. I wish I could go out on a whim and try and buy the place, but I think they'd just laugh. Maybe I could convince my parents that property is the best place for our money right now. Anyway, so I told him that I loved the living room, he laughed and told me that if we ever got a house together, there was no way I'd get a room like that. And then I said I liked doilies, and it went downhill from there.
I still maintain that doilies are cool and acceptable additions to a kitsch house. Sigh.
Monday, 9 June 2008
Do you close for lunch?
What kind of business actually closes for lunch? Sure, I may sit in the shop eating a sandwich whilst I try and help you, but hey, it beats locking you out while I peruse the newspaper eating my packet of Skips. Honestly.
When I was a kid, I used to tell my father he was being a "psycho dad", normally when he was disciplining me. It's since become a family joke, and we nonchalantly pass around the insult. However, I just witnessed what I can honestly say was a real-life, full-time "psycho mum". Never before have I encountered this kind of mothering, or smothering. Either or. She was polite, she was charming, and she hated everything her daughter loved. It had to be the dress that the mother loved, not the daughter, because maybe in her head, she was going to the prom instead of her teenage daughter. Must have been some kind of suppressed dress-buying memory that has turned her into the Godzilla of all boutiques.
When I was a kid, I used to tell my father he was being a "psycho dad", normally when he was disciplining me. It's since become a family joke, and we nonchalantly pass around the insult. However, I just witnessed what I can honestly say was a real-life, full-time "psycho mum". Never before have I encountered this kind of mothering, or smothering. Either or. She was polite, she was charming, and she hated everything her daughter loved. It had to be the dress that the mother loved, not the daughter, because maybe in her head, she was going to the prom instead of her teenage daughter. Must have been some kind of suppressed dress-buying memory that has turned her into the Godzilla of all boutiques.
The dawn of the dresses.
If it wasn't clear before, dresses is what I do. I sell, buy, wear dresses. And today, I have been given a mission by a Northern Irelander to track down an expensive cocktail dress in America, and then have it delivered to her door in 2 weeks. Not for the faint-hearted, I assure you. It's these kind of tasks that make me wonder about the people in this world. I've had to track down someone that can inform me of the final cost of the dress, which she'll have to cover fully, as well as the postage. I also have to let her know that we don't do refunds. Could turn out to be a costly mistake. That leads me to question the judgement that people have - is it worth shelling out £500 odd for the "perfect" dress, which you've only seen in a picture, worn by a 6 foot tall stunning American? You've yet to try it on, you don't know if the style works for you, the colour, or indeed the fit. Americans aren't the same body shape as us British. And the most important, you haven't even felt the dress! The picture which you look at on a website has all the appeal in the world, because it's been staged to look that way. The dress could have been made from the shoddiest material in the world, with sequins glued on, yet looks incredible because of the lighting and photographic direction. If only people realised that things are never what they seem. I've even heard of companies that use completely different dresses in their photographs than their collection, and what you see is without a doubt a totally different dress, perhaps vaguely similar in style but nevertheless bearing little similarity. I had this experience personally when I was given the honoured role of picking prom dresses for the previous season. There they were, a rail of beautiful gowns, ripe and ready for the choice. I went through them all, chose carefully, but my eye suddenly descended on the last dress. The epitome of the prom dress. Short, beautiful, pink and tiered in ruffles. It was gorgeous. I realise that from my description it sounds like something only Barbie's love child would wear to a function, but take my word - it was a stunner. Anyway, having ordered a couple of the dresses, I awaited their delivery with great expectation. And then the box arrived. Imagine combining Christmas with your 21st birthday, thrown in with a silver wedding anniversary of some sort, and that was the excitement felt. Maybe not quite, it was just a box with a dress in it, after all, but I have to convey my emotion with some certain exaggeration or it won't work. In the words of Holden Caulfield, "anyway..." The box was opened, and the dress pulled out. Such disappointment cannot be expressed with mere words. I'd have to make some kind of collage bound together with the glue from my tears. The dress was most certainly not the dress that I had ordered. It bore some resemblence to it, but it certainly didn't have the same oomph that I had felt with the other one, and what's more, they added an extra tier to the dress. An extra ruffle of cheap taffeta, positioned to make the dress completely useless. Only the 6 foot girls can wear this dress now, and for some reason, they're not so into short dresses. God knows why, leggy biatches. So the dress is null and void for us British midgets. It would make Celine Dion look gangly, for heavens' sake. But enough about the dress. It'll find its perfect partner and all will be well in the world.
So the ocean of dresses isn't as calm as one might expect. You may think that the art of selling eveningwear is one of the easiest. It's like selling knickers; you just pick out your size and voila! Not a chance, mate. If I had a pound for every complaint, every wobble or slight inclination of cellulite, well, I'd be at the nearest cosmetic surgeon, obviously. Just joking. Say no to the knife, as Gok Wan says. The best advice I can offer is to buy a pair of Spanx, throw off your inhibitions, and bloody try the dresses on! They can look awful on a hanger and brilliant on, or vice versa! Trust me, finding the dress that fits you perfectly and makes you feel like a million dollars is hard, but achievable. And when you find that dress, sure, you'll probably pay with a Mastercard, but it's going to make you feel priceless. Cheesy, I know, but hell, I don't care.
So the ocean of dresses isn't as calm as one might expect. You may think that the art of selling eveningwear is one of the easiest. It's like selling knickers; you just pick out your size and voila! Not a chance, mate. If I had a pound for every complaint, every wobble or slight inclination of cellulite, well, I'd be at the nearest cosmetic surgeon, obviously. Just joking. Say no to the knife, as Gok Wan says. The best advice I can offer is to buy a pair of Spanx, throw off your inhibitions, and bloody try the dresses on! They can look awful on a hanger and brilliant on, or vice versa! Trust me, finding the dress that fits you perfectly and makes you feel like a million dollars is hard, but achievable. And when you find that dress, sure, you'll probably pay with a Mastercard, but it's going to make you feel priceless. Cheesy, I know, but hell, I don't care.
Saturday, 7 June 2008
As I sit here with a glass of white wine, I am happy to report that life is going swimmingly. Work went extremely well today, myself managing to reach my record in sales and go miles beyond it! Hurrah. Should be in line for a bonus sometime in the near future.
The air is muggy and the movie is great. Tonights choices include the ever popular "Howls Moving Castle" and the less popular yet more mainstream "Mallrats". Excellent. My boyfriend is lazing near me, annoyed because I have chosen to sit on "his side of the bed", even though the entire bed is his side of the bed. Geez. However, that said, he was kind enough to walk to my work to pick me up this evening, and even offered me his coat when it got chilly. He's got a warm soul.
So I have absolutely nothing to say. I shall bid adeiu.
The air is muggy and the movie is great. Tonights choices include the ever popular "Howls Moving Castle" and the less popular yet more mainstream "Mallrats". Excellent. My boyfriend is lazing near me, annoyed because I have chosen to sit on "his side of the bed", even though the entire bed is his side of the bed. Geez. However, that said, he was kind enough to walk to my work to pick me up this evening, and even offered me his coat when it got chilly. He's got a warm soul.
So I have absolutely nothing to say. I shall bid adeiu.
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
Wednesday, June 4th
Aaah the crisp freshness of the first blog on the page. Bliss. So I'm sitting alone in my place of work, reflecting upon things. It's been quite a dull day, to be honest, with the exception of a few "colourful" customers who piqued my interest, one of whom I'm still confused about. She asked about the price of a handbag, I told her, and twenty-five minutes later, she was still telling me about her weaving of the Madonna and Child, and something about a fishing boat crash. I am still very uncertain of how it happened. I know that nobody mentioned weaving, the Madonna or anything about fish, so she must have just leapt on it independently.
People like that confuse me thoroughly.
Then there was the customer who has now successfully phoned the shop four times, each of which she has wandered out of reception and lost the connection. It was a bit of a cycle. Phone, hang up, ten minute pause, phone, hang up, pause...etc. Odd.
So, it's the end of another day, and it's been incredibly dull. I've spent most of my day trying to get hold of the DVLA, who don't answer phones and have a camp Welshman every so often telling me that they are aware that I have phoned, and are trying to connect me. Great. At least they knew I phoned! I wonder if they know that I waited for over five minutes and gave up. So I tried online, but at the end of the form which I spent about ten minutes filling out, a page appeared telling me that I could go no further, but that I had to phone their sales team. I resolved that I would do no such thing. Monsters. Why have a form if they were just going to make you phone anyway?
My night tonight consists of The Apprentice, and a large family bag of Doritos. Classy, I know, but you can't whack a bit of cheese with The Apprentice. Although tonight is the interview show, so I'm looking forward to seeing what a bunch of liars they all are. There is nothing purer and more entertaining than seeing their characters being ripped to shreds by men in suits.
People like that confuse me thoroughly.
Then there was the customer who has now successfully phoned the shop four times, each of which she has wandered out of reception and lost the connection. It was a bit of a cycle. Phone, hang up, ten minute pause, phone, hang up, pause...etc. Odd.
So, it's the end of another day, and it's been incredibly dull. I've spent most of my day trying to get hold of the DVLA, who don't answer phones and have a camp Welshman every so often telling me that they are aware that I have phoned, and are trying to connect me. Great. At least they knew I phoned! I wonder if they know that I waited for over five minutes and gave up. So I tried online, but at the end of the form which I spent about ten minutes filling out, a page appeared telling me that I could go no further, but that I had to phone their sales team. I resolved that I would do no such thing. Monsters. Why have a form if they were just going to make you phone anyway?
My night tonight consists of The Apprentice, and a large family bag of Doritos. Classy, I know, but you can't whack a bit of cheese with The Apprentice. Although tonight is the interview show, so I'm looking forward to seeing what a bunch of liars they all are. There is nothing purer and more entertaining than seeing their characters being ripped to shreds by men in suits.
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