DRUGSTORE HAUL! Sleek Makeup, W7 and NYC Cosmetics | Drumbeat Heart

L-R: NYC Liquid Eyeliner in Black, W7 Prime Magic in 'Camera Ready', W7 The Fixer setting spray, Sleek Makeup Matte Me lip creams in 'Fandango Purple', 'Birthday Suit' and , W7 Absolute Lashes mascara

'Ello 'ello 'ello ...

I usually don't do posts like this because I don't want to come off like a big fat wanker. I am not a makeup artist, nor would I consider myself a 'beauty blogger', but I do absolutely love makeup. I remember discovering online makeup tutorials and I became completely obsessed, (as in if I could do my Masters in being Pixiwoo then I would).

I'm constantly picking up new stuff, and seeing as I dropped serious dollah on a DSLR, and because I'm trying to get back into blogging regularly, I thought I'd talk about some bits I picked up recently!

I bought all these products in Sam McCauley's Pharmacy in Midleton, (they were doing a 'buy one get one half price' on cosmetics, I was like a deer in headlights), 

W7 Absolute Lashes mascara

First up - W7's Absolute Lashes mascara, which is basically Benefit's They're Real! for €4. Don't tell them that though, obviously. Gracey from Long Hair and Lashes (go check out her blog and fawn over her) posted about this originally so I said I'd pick it up when I got a chance. Since using up my They're Real! I've been at a loss. I did find some great ones in the mean time - Benefit's Rollerlash is fantastic, as is Bare Minerals Lash Domination - but I can't justify spending lots of money on something that I'll be throwing out in three months. Absolute Lashes is literally the EXACT same, right down to the brush, for a fraction of the price. I will be repurchasing by the dozen.

Lil brushy wush!

Next up ...

W7 Prime Magic primer in 'Camera Ready'

...W7's Prime Magic face primer! Being honest, I never usually used primer up until recently, when I got a sample of Bare Minerals Prime Time primer. It made my skin look visibly smoother when I applied my foundation, no matter how rough and ragged it was. This is the same concept, but again, for half the price (this costs €6 compared to Bare Minerals being anywhere between €22 and €26). The one thing I would say about this is that it doesn't dry as fast as the BM one, and the 'camera ready' claim is just marketing fluff.

W7 The Fixer setting spray

This was €3 which meant I had to buy it because I am attracted to things that are very very cheap. W7's The Fixer spray smells amazing, but I don't think I've used it enough to give it a fair review. It did take away a little bit of the chalkiness from my setting powder but as regards my makeup longevity, it's too early to tell.

NYC Liquid Eyeliner in 'Black'

This is one of NikkieTutorial's favourite eyeliner, and it was only €2 so I said it was worth a shout, (if you can't tell, I'm a massive cheapskate). This has definitely overtaken my old favourite. Essence Liquid Ink - the longer brush of the NYC Liquid Eyeliner is way easier to manoeuvre, and the formula is much longer-lasting. Win!

Sleek Matte Me lip creams in 'Fandango Purple', 'Birthday Suit' and 'Brink Pink'

Best 'til last! Sleek Matte Me lipcreams! *Whitney Houston's 'The Greatest Love of All' plays in the background* I became obsessed these when my friend Gracey started raving about them. If you're familiar with Limecrime Velvetines, this is them, for half the price and without the fraud, (these retail at about €6/€7). These are extremely pigmented, extremely long wearing and extremely matte - they even lasted through me eating a really oily salad the other day. Application is key though: you'll get the bet results if you apply it in thin layers, and allow it to dry between each one. Also, I HATE the doe foot applicator, it's like extended and very stiff and not easy to use at all. I usually use a separate brush to be honest. But it's a tiny price to pay I guess.

Talking about the shades - 'Fandango Purple' is a blue-toned purple. For comparison, it's slightly lighter than my MAC Lipliner in 'Currant'. 'Birthday Suit' is the the eponymous Kylie Jenner colour - dark, browney nude. And 'Brink Pink' is literally highlighter pink. Amazing.

L-R: 'Fandango Purple', 'Birthday Suit', 'Brink Pink' and the NYC Eyeliner in 'Black'

Fionnuala x

NEW VIDEO! #StillHere Ep. 3 - Defining Your Happiness | Drumbeat Heart + BONUS SPOTIFY PLAYLIST!

Hello friends,

New video is hereee - talking about how we need to take control over our emotions, especially happiness.

We can make ourselves, we just need to know how!

Also, bonus Spotify playlist here on the blog! It includes some tracks that instantly put me in a good mood - there should be a lil something for everyone on it!.

Fionnuala x

Funeral sandwiches

 "Happiness is a drink, a fag or a shag."

Apologies if the following post comes across like a pity parade - it kind of is.

I finished my first year last week. I successfully submitted my last assignment, and I didn't even have to upload a photo to Facebook as proof. Huzzah!

To be honest, I was happy to see the back of the place. I feel like I went through a reverse emotional cycle when it came to college. I found it easy at the start, and was deliriously happy. However, I struggled towards the end. This was largely due to external factors.

I don't want to go into anything too much. Other people are involved here, and I'm not entirely sure how happy they'd be if I went into extensive detail about things that they didn't want to be discussed in the public domain.

My uncle died. It wasn't unexpected, but I don't think that makes a situation any less sad. I'd be lying if I said we were very close or we had a 'special' relationship. But he was a good man. He was always good to me growing up, and to my brother and sister. I knew he, and my aunt, would have done anything for me had I ever been in need. He felt more like a blood relative than an in-law, and it was a shame to see him go. . On the other hand, it was wonderful to see how much of a positive impact he's had on my family and beyond as we reflected on his full life.

A week later, my godfather died. This was not expected. My godfather was not a relative - I was the only one of my siblings to have a god parent that wasn't. But it made no difference.

A large part of my childhood was spent in their house. There, I would draw moustaches and devil horns on all the people in the paper. I would play with their family pet, (Ben, a beast of a dog), for hours, one slobbery tennis ball after another. His wife would give me Weetos and all the other delicious things I wasn't allowed at home, and he would tease me gently and wind me up about anything and everything.

He was good natured and good humoured: a larger-than-life character. He was well-known within the community, as a golfer, a Navy man, a good guy. I knew him as my godfather.

My mam told me before the funeral that he was delighted when my dad asked him to be my godfather. And I was delighted that it was him that was asked. He was my dad's best friend from the age of 18, and I cannot fathom how difficult it must have been to let him go.

On top of that, my dad was asked to give the eulogy. Naturally, he wrote it the morning of, (after much protest from my poor mother - he knew what he wanted to say in his head, wasn't that enough?)

He tripped up here and there - understandably - but otherwise he did a great job, and summed him up perfectly.

"If he could sing, he would have been perfect," he said.


Death and funerals are the only times when such great displays of strength are really acknowledged and appreciated. Similarly, at my uncle's funeral, my cousin - his son - gave a witty, poignant eulogy to a packed church in Dublin. I struggle to speak in public as it is, hence why I was so proud of both my dad and my cousins for giving eulogies dedicated to someone they'd loved and lost.

Death unifies us. It's the only thing that every person has in common - we're all going to die. Though its immediate repercussions are devastating and incomprehensible, death can also bring a sense of togetherness. Families following death resemble the pieces of a mosaic.

This all came to me at my uncle's removal. The way we deal with grief is so typically Irish. One branch of the family will be popping out lasagnes, sandwiches and cake like there's no tomorrow. The other battalion will sit, murmer, comment on the corpse, eat and ask you the same questions about college over and over and over.

"I mean, he looks well, doesn't he? He doesn't look ... Sick, like."

"The glasses. He's missing his glasses. I wondered what was different about him."

"And tell me, do you have exams? What are you doing for accommodation next year?

Then, all of a sudden, the two sides amalgamate. Before you know it, it's 10 o'clock, and 90% of your family are inebriated  - and still scolding you for drinking vodka-laced cocktails with your aunts, (despite being 18 and all).

It'd be difficult to capture a moment like that under different circumstances. Beautiful, raw, unique and completely unconventional. Although I still can't contemplate a life without either of them, it's nice to be able to take something from it that is positive.

"If I never see another sandwich again ... " My other cousin grumbled.

When it's salad and cucumber, who could blame him?

Hot Press Presents - The Write Touch with Alcatel One Touch - VOTE FOR ME!

http://www.hotpress.com/writetouch/collegefemale.html

Exciting news! I've been short-listed in this year's Hot Press - The Write Touch competition. I am going head-to-head with 40 other students, both second and third-level, for the chance to win an internship with Hot Press this summer! 

For those who aren't aware - Hot Press is Ireland's leading music publication, and it would be an absolute honour to intern there.

However, I won't make it there, unless people vote for me! It's based on half public vote, half panel vote. So, what I'm trying to say is ... I would seriously appreciate a vote! All you have to do is click the link at the beginning of this post and click my little icon (Fionnuala Jones) and I'm good to go!

Thank you in advance! Cross your fingers and toes and intestines for me.


Fionnuala

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L

I'm never good at something when I try it for the first time. It's just a rule.
This rule, (more commonly referred to as 'Fionnuala's Law'), also applies to me driving.

Yes, after years of fleecing my mother, father and siblings for lifts , I have finally started to learn how to drive.

(Let's not get ahead of ourselves now, I've had two lessons - still more Spongebob than Jensen Button, unfortunately).

It's difficult though, isn't it? Well, maybe not difficult ... Just not as easy as I had initially anticipated. The first lesson was a breeze  - ambling around country lanes, Christy Moore yodelling in my ears, cruisin' at 20 miles per hour.

All that being said, where I live can't exactly be described as a built-up area - Narnia's a stone's throw away from it, so when you're the only car on the road, it's bound to be easier, isn't it?

It's all well and good being able to drive when there's no traffic on the roads, but it's entirely practical, especially with college coming up.

So, naturally, lesson two involved driving on a main road. All of a sudden things got that tad bit trickier.With roundabouts, T-junctions and drivers with road rage thrown into the equation, I was a nervous wreck. As I grappled with the steering wheel, I imagined I resembled an octopus lathered in Vaseline attempting to juggle.

(Of course, while I was imagining this, I almost crashed the car - apparently, you have to pay attention while driving?)

Road positioning's another kettle of fish altogether. "Let the white line be your guide", my driving instructor repeated, like some sort of ominous shaman chant. I was half expecting him to whip out some crystal meth and dream-catchers, but apparently that's frowned upon while driving.

You'd think it'd be easy - the lines are there for you to follow on the road. Essentially, it's Painting By Numbers. In a moving vehicle. Which can injure people.

And is there anything more shameful than that moment when the car stalls? Well, imagine doing that three times. On a roundabout. See, the truth is, I actually stalled on purpose. I was simply just stopping, momentarily, in order to embrace the roundabout and all its circular complexities. Nothing wrong with that, is there?

Lesson three will involve lots of steering and positioning practice, and we'll be heading in to town. The downside of this is that, potentially, people I know will see me make a twat of myself. No pressure, eh?

So, if you see a little red learner car occasionally stalling to take in the scenery, don't angrily indicate or shake your fist because there is a strong possibility that I will cry. 

Doubt

(For the sake of those who don't speak Irish - see translations at the end)

I still find it funny that there are three words for 'doubt' in Irish - 'amhras', 'agó' and - wait for it - 'dabht'. It's almost as if us Irish ourselves doubted that one word would suffice. Clearly, we as a nation are indecisive to the point where we need a choice of three words in order to say one.

A few days ago, I had my Irish oral exam, which consists of a 15 minute conversation as Gaeilge* in order to gain 40% of the overall mark for my Irish for my Leaving Cert. Piece of cake!

I started getting Irish orals grinds from September onward, in order to build up my confidence. By the time the mock Irish oral came around, I wasn't a bit worried and entirely convinced that I would walk out of the mock feeling like the founding father of the language itself.

How wrong was I, eh?

The examiner grilled me on topics such as how to download music and the plot of The Hunger Games, (I don't think I will ever forget the word 'íoslodáil'** for as long as I live). Let me just reiterate that I had to say all of this AS GAEILGE*** . Picture the scene: a stammering, bumbling mess sweating in her chair like a priest in an orphanage. For once in my life, I was speechless.

"I'm glad it happened to you", she told me when we were críocnaithe****.

I couldn't say I was thrilled myself to be honest.

From then on, bhí mé an-neirbhíseach ar fad*****. Rigorous preparation for the real deal ensued. I learned off an entire paragraph explaining how to download music, as well as the plot of The Hunger Games. I knew the modh coinniollach****** better than I knew myself. I prepared for every worst case scenario, every sticky question she could throw at me. 

The day came, and I was due to be examined at half 2 in the afternoon. I stood outside the room with the guy before me, waiting for him to be called. People who had been examined before me had been asked questions ranging from the Pope, to their opinion on the colour green. Our teachers had frantically given us vocabulary to cover both topics before we were due to be examined. Now, there was no more we could do.

"Sure it's just reading a poem, talking about a picture, bit of a chat", he said.

"Yeah, just a bit of a chat", I said, trying to drown out the voice in mind manically reciting every word of Irish I've ever heard.

Soon, he was called, and then it was just me in the hall, facing the longest 15 minute wait in my life. 

"Verbal diarrhea", I thought of my teacher's advice, "just go in and regurgitate everything".

My friend came out of the exam, awash with relief. 

"You have nothing to worry about. It's fine. Honestly".

As he went to class, I hovered outside the room for a few minutes, braced myself, and went in.

She was a tiny woman, the examiner: blonde, and sitting adjacent to a tape recorder that sounded like it ran on diesel. We greeted each other, I signed my name on the roll, and sat down.

I read my poem and picture so as to move on to the general conversation as quickly as possible. It all just started pouring out of me - I was running high on adrenaline and a single Kalms tablet my friend had given me before I went in, (don't do drugs - not even over-the-counter anti-anxiety tablets made of sugar and little else).

We got on to the topic of music. I informed her I could not live without it, that I had seen The Maine and All Time Low live last year, and after the Leaving Cert, I would be seeing Rihanna and The Killers respectively.

"Agus cad a cheapann tú faoi Rihanna?"******* she asked me, "cén saghas cailín í?"********

I sat, gobsmacked. What did I think of Rihanna?! What kind of person was she?! I scrambled for the information - abusive boyfriend, drug abuse, fashion icon, not particularly partial to wearing clothes ... 

"Is ... cailín deas dathúil í?" ********* I replied, "Eh ... Caitheann sí eadaí ... Eh ... Cool ... " **********

The examiner laughed, at which point I realised that not only had I cocked up my answer, but the examiner now thought I was a lesbian. Great. At least now I might have grounds to appeal my result. Can you imagine? "She failed me because I fancy ladies!"

Before I knew it, it was over. I floated out of the room, as relief flooded my body and left me incapable of saying anything other than - "It went grand!"

I drifted through the hall and sat on the window, stalling before class, content in the thought that I would never have to speak Irish again, unless by choice. Phew!

My result? Irrelevant. I got through it without puking into my examiner's lap - that's achievement enough for me.

* - In Irish

** - Download

*** - In Irish

**** - Finished

***** - I was very nervous

****** - The conditional tense

******* - "What do you think of Rihanna?"

******** - "What kind of girl is she?"

********* - "She is a nice beautiful girl".

********** - "She wears a lot of cool clothes".

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The dark rise of celebirty culture

I wrote this for my Leaving Cert Mock/Pre exam. Enjoy!



I woke a few mornings ago to find my social networking sites a-flutter. Torrents of Tweets and posts were sending cyberspace into a frenzy, as well as my phone. What could warrant such a response? I wondered. An end to war? A cure for cancer?

The headlines read:

"KIMYE'S BABY JOY"

If you have no idea what/who Kimye is, you are one of a lucky few. 'Kimye' are composed of Kim Kardashian - American 'socialite', 'actress' 'designer' and sex-tape star - and Kanye West - rapper and occasionally, Taylor Swift's award speech interrupter. The white-trash equivalent of Brangelina, they are Hollywood's most prolific power couple today.

And now, they have managed to successfully reproduce. How thrilling.

How did it come to this, in which, globally, people are celebrating that two run-of-the-mill people are expecting a child/ Since when is this more important that current affairs?

This shows exactly, the rapid, sadistic rise of celebrity culture - officially diagnosed as 'the Kim Kardashian effect'.

Stars without merit are beginning to have a greater influence in modern society. Celebrities dictate how we look, dress, eat, exercise and think. We are more exposed to Hollywood indoctrination than ever before. Products are bought for the face on the box - what else can you attribute to Jennifer Lopez having 12 different perfumes? Not her keen sense of smell, that's for sure.

Celebrities hold power reminiscent of Fascist dictators. We are bombarded with highly sexualised images of D-list celebrities daily, accompanying mundane stories such as, "How My New Puppy Is Changing My Life",  and "Being Filthy Rich Has It's Challenges, I Swear". In a recent straw poll of people agd between 18 and 30 years of age, a mere 10% could identify Nelson Mandela from a photograph. Surprisingly, (or perhaps unsurprisingly), 85% of the group could recognise Simon Cowell. If the children are our future, should I be worried?

So where does that leave us? Just how detrimental is 'the Kim Kardashian effect'?

For starts, we are significantly less intelligent. Recent studies from Cambridge University have show that a lowly 8% of your brain is engaged while watching reality TV. Imagine the potential of that 8%! It could be writing a novella, solving a sudoku puzzle or playing a game of chess, as opposed to "keeping up with the Kardashians".

On top of that, we are more easily manipulated. We are allowing ourselves to be sold ideas and products from shallow, plastic mannequins, who are lucky enough to have famous parents. I myself have been a victim of this. Recently, I purchased a pastel pink mohair jumper from H&M that I had seen singer Lana del Rey model for a recent campaign of theirs. Did I like the jumper? Not particularly. Did it make me look like Lana? Perhaps ... If she shared the same penchant for biscuits as myself. The point is, I bought it, because, sub-consciously, Lana del Rey told me to. Such levels of exploitations are on par with those in a Nike sweatshop in Bangladesh.

Celebrity culture has corrupted our minds. People hold notions now that talent is optional, morals are irrelevant  starving is sexy and dignity no longer exists. We as a nation have become a herd: people with no discernible, unique characteristics. We are sheep, sponging off the personalities of 'the next big thing', in order to satisfy our seemingly inherent and insatiable desire to 'fit in'.

I can only pray that this is a mild overreaction on my part, and this event will act as some sort of a turning point. I have my fingers crossed that the next generation with shun the shine of celebrity and embrace the new age of intelligent thinking. Maybe there will be the next great novella. Maybe there will be a cure for cancer. Maybe the malignant force that is celebrity culture will be eradicated once and for all.

Or maybe not. Glossy rags could continue to be worshipped, the 21st century equivalent of the Holy Bible, and I could continue to lose faith in humanity. After all, Kimye look set to pocket a cool $10 million from selling their baby's first picture.

Baby joy indeed.


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Prologue (*)

This is the first piece of fiction I've written in a while. More importantly it's the first piece of fiction that I have been genuinely excited about. It's the prologue to a story that has been churning in my mind for some time - it's just a matter of putting pen to paper really, (or should that be fingers to keys? Hmm). Whether the entire story ever comes to fruition is another story altogether, (what a shameless, shameless pun), but hopefully it will. Maybe after school and exams ... Anyways! Enough nonsensical jabber! I hope you enjoy.



When I think of him, there's one particular memory that stands out above all the others ...



"I love it when you cut off my air supply like this. It's really attractive".

A voice beneath me murmured. I shivered. The wind was punishing me for wearing so little clothing, (nothing new there).

I began to laugh, and continued to do so. Uncontrollably. It hung in the air like cathedral bells, loud and boisterous, (nothing new there either, my signature laugh was infamous).

I lay there. surrounded by several other friends, the majority of whom were enjoying the wonders of underage drinking outdoors. My discarded Jones' bottles lay next to my equally jaded naggin bottle of Huzzar. One of the girls had gone down the other end of the field for a piss - you know, the usual.

"Hey Logan?"

"Yes dear?"

"Wanna know the difference between soda and vodka?"

"Of course".

"Two letters"

Logan laughed politely.

"Not that you'd know". I buried my head into his chest. "Too busy being a dry-balls to drink with me".

"Sorry. Next time. I promise".

We were silent for a few moments, the soundtrack of our friends' chatter in the background.

"Logan?"

"Hmmm?"

"... How do you please a man?"

Logan paused, pensive for a moment, before replying:

"Watch a lot of porn".

More cathedral bell/drowning donkey laughter.

"No but seriously", he said, stroking my hair, "you'll be fine. Honestly. You're perfect".

I looked up at him, struggling to keep focus as I did so. "Thanks", I smiled.

"Seriously though, I think one of my lungs has collapsed".

"Are you calling me fat?!"

"No!" Logan exclaimed, "I just - "

"You know Logan, it's time like these that I really think we shouldn't be friends. Because you're horrible to me. ALL THE TIME ... Don't look at me like that! I could revoke your friendship card like THAT!"

I rolled off of him and closed my eyes, filled with a warmth that only he could provide.



This isn't our story, nor is it my own.

This is his story that I promised him.


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