I Removed my Face for a Good Cause. Next Time I'm Drinking Cocktails...

So far, it's been a pretty average week. On the weekend I went for a glass of wine with Jess and Kirsty and ended up stumbling home at 4am after a night of dancing, hiding our coats in condiments draws to avoid cloakroom charges, and getting into the most bizarre arguments with middle aged women in fancy dress who don't understand that Northern Ireland is a country. For the rest of the week I have been pretty much banging my head against useless textbooks and trying to form a 3,000 word chapter for my dissertation out of the 3 convoluted bullet points I have.

But this week has been somewhat out of the ordinary. For a reason I at first could not understand, dozens of makeupless selfies started to clog up my Facebook newsfeed. Initially I was confused, partly because I didn't recognise any of the faces staring out of the pictures at me (apparently, I'm not the only one who looks like a completely different person without my customary 5 layers of makeup on). But it quickly became clear what was happening. Snap a picture of yourself sans makeup, upload it to Facebook, nominate your friends (or enemies), and donate £3 to Cancer Research UK.

Once that was cleared up, my confusion quickly turned to terror. This thing was spreading faster than the plague. Eventually it would find me and, as the day progressed and the number of selfies doubled, then tripled on my newsfeed, I knew it wouldn't be long before a nomination came my way.

It was waiting for me when I woke up the next day. And so was a spot on the end of my nose. Because having to expose your naked face to the world isn't bad enough. But I did it. I won't lie, it was a challenge. I don't have great self esteem. Yes, I'll walk into a room and talk to anyone. Yes, I'll be the last one dancing when they turn the lights on in Arena at the end of the night. And yes, I do insist on wearing ridiculous fancy dress costumes whenever possible. But ask me to take my makeup off or tie my hair into a pony tail and expose my Dumbo ears and I freak out. Welcome to my inner crazy.

But what really surprised me were all the negative comments. Not about my naked face, although there are probably a few of those floating around the place. About the campaign itself. I've read articles about how this trend won't achieve anything, Facebook statuses about how stupid
the idea is, and, of course, numerous male comments stating, "seeing as it's for Breast Cancer, why don't you just get your boobs out?" Original.

But the last I read, the Cancer Research text line was overrun with people making donations and the campaign raised over £1 million pound in 24 hours. I may not enjoy posting a picture of my real face online and I doubt anyone out there enjoys looking at it, but this crazy random idea has done a lot of good. But I would appreciate it if the next campagin was something less scarring. Like, "Nominate 3 friends to go grab a coktail and donate money to Cancer Research." In fact, let's just make that a thing right now.

F-Words All Round: Freebies, Fun, and Foul Cocktails.

Last Tuesday I somehow managed to meet all my deadlines, slept for 14 hours, and drank Jack Daniels to celebrate. I ignored the fact that I have another 10,000 words due in by the end of April and decided to give myself the rest of the week off, to soak up as much fun as I possibly could before I went back to a life of instant noodles and looking like death warmed up. Also, I have a little freebie at the bottom of the post. You know, because I love you.

"...a curdled goo..."

On Thursday I headed to Bristol to celebrate Bethan's birthday. Yes, the Bethan I went to Europe with, who got stuck in a turnstile in Paris and made topless Irish men bench-press beer kegs when she got lost in a night club in Prague. Needless to say, the girl is a hoot. 

I was definitely unreasonably excited on the bus. I don't know whether it was the relief of not having to read about degeneration anxiety in the nineteenth century, glee at finally having time to apply eyeliner, anticipation at the thought of a night out in a city that has more than three clubs, or a combination of all of these things. Either way, I shamelessly danced to myself while I listened to Britney Spears on my Ipod. 

Bethan had stocked up on alcohol...in a big way. She wanted to make cocktails. The Sex on the Beach was great, the Woo Woos contained a whole new host of ingredients, but sadly, her attempt at Pina Coladas just resulted in a curdled goo. All the same, it took a lot for me to persuade her not to drink it. 

Bethan and her brother have birthdays pretty much back to back and, seeing as all of our friends were busy being boring with jobs and uni, we tagged along with her brother's birthday celebrations. We ended up in a place called Thekla. It was...well, they certainly weren't playing any Britney Spears. It was what we called 'emo' music way back when I was thirteen, a lot of screaming and people throwing their hair around, the girls in high tops and mini skirts, the guys with more eye makeup than me. 

I got caught smuggling in my glittery pink hipflask full of vodka when we were at the entrance. 

"You caught me!" (Look cute. Just look cute and confused.) "I'm sorry!"

And in we went, vodka and all. I honestly believe it had more to do with the fact that Bethan and I were the only girls there in high heels and dresses than any charitable feeling from the bouncer. He made an appearance later in the night and things got somewhat weird.

"Do you remember me?"

No. Oh dear. 

Bethan whispered that he was the bouncer from the door.

"Oh, yes! Of course. Thanks so much for earlier."

"You know, most people wouldn't have done that for you."

"...Yeah...thanks." 

"Most people would have just thrown you out, but I didn't. I wouldn't do that to you."

"It was nice of you."

"I'm glad you remember me."

And, as the conversation started to go off in some strange new direction, we headed to the toilets and spent the rest of the night avoiding all large men in puffa jackets. 

The night ended rather early. Bethan somehow got elbowed in the eye and pushed over and demanded I find somewhere that would play Carly Rae Jepson. But quickly that demanded turned into "Just take me home. The best birthday gift ever would be a plate of pasty and a cheesy movie." So home we went and watched that epic favourite...Clueless. But I really can't remember the time I laughed that much. 

Amazed that I was even able to stand on Friday, I headed off to the station, missed my train, and collapsed into bed when I finally got home. I would need all my strength for Saturday's events. My lovely housemate Jess from Mismatched Knitwear was having a birthday party and was bringing in reinforcements from Essex.

What a night! First there was the age old issue about outfit choice. The party was in our kitchen and I had been told on numerous occasions it was going to be a relatively casual affair. But I couldn't resist an opportunity for a little black dress, glitter eyeshadow and enormous hair. (Seriously, the new-found love I have for my teasing comb is starting to take over my life.) I was not exactly looking casual. So as a compromise I wore my slippers. 

I was totally fine until Sophie slipped me one of Jess' home-made vodka jelly shots, which were so strong they wouldn't even set properly. And from there all I can say is that I spoke to everyone I saw, insisted on having pictures with quite a lot of people I didn't know, and told Jess' sister I loved her...several times. 

The people of Essex did not let me down. When the usual time for Exeter parties to end came and people started to head home, Jess' brother took on the role of DJ and suddenly our kitchen became a dance floor. It was amazing! I am slightly concerned about my feet though. It appears that after all these years of tottering around in platforms, my feet just can't deal with dancing in flats and I had to quickly change into stilettos to find comfort. Surely that isn't normal?

I rolled into bed after 4am, forcing Jess' brother to talk to me in the kitchen for over and hour about...who even knows? And the next day I moved briefly from my bed to watch the rugby before climbing back into my cave to sleep off the rest of my hangover. 

So, my week off was fun-filled to say the least. Unfortunately I must now go back to "the dark place". Today was my first day back in the library. I dozed off with my head in a book. I need to work on that.

Freebie Anyone?

Before I forget, I have a freebie for my readers in the UK (sorry to everyone else). In my last post I mentioned that The Week had sent me a copy of their magazine to review and I really liked it. Now they'd like to send a free copy to each of you to make up your own minds about it. They aren't paying me and this isn't just a weird scam where, instead of the magazine, I turn up at your door in a big box (but who wouldn't want that?) 

I just love freebies so when they offered freebies for all of you guys I was instantly on board. Here are the details, links, and random picture they sent me.

Claim a free copy of The Week magazine

·         The best of the British and international media

·         Clear unbiased journalism presenting you with the facts you need

·         Intelligent writing delivers you a concise and complete briefing in just one hour of your time

·         Keeping on top of the news has never been so easy or enjoyable – in print or through our dynamic digital formats

·         Our Review of reviews brings you the most interesting and entertaining insights on the latest books, plays, films, opera and exhibitions

·         What are top food critics saying about British restaurants?

·         Plus the most bizarre stories from the tabloids, a smattering of gossip and Talking Points

Follow this link to claim your free copy: http://subscription.theweek.co.uk/landing/bigshot/01/