Edam

Pez uploaded Adobe InDesign suit onto Chris' computer so we're in business.

Our first order: buying Chris a spring jacket. How I love to dress people i.e. I am the one picking it out. And this is something that he cannot call into question. From time to time Chris likes to question my authority on things such as buses, tube lines, location of places/things, and if you know me, I don't argue unless I know for a certain fact that it's correct so when I boast to him that I know where something is, which strong conviction and great confidence, I do. He however questions it and has to find out for himself, only to realize that yes, I was right all along.

But I digress. I am finding him a shorter black trench and he shouldn't call into question my impecable taste.

Big things are happening!

Milk---an updated updated update

We as predicted are friends again again.

My cold however is becoming progressively worse and worse.

Milk---an updated update

We're back in a fight.

Oh man!! We both need jobs asap.

The fact that we keep getting into fights and the fact that I can do live up to the minute coverage of them is very bad.

Very, very bad.

Milk---an update

We're frends again. Everything is cool.



We love each other.

I can definitely feel a cold coming on.

Milk

Too tired. I stayed up until 5:30am GMT watching the Oscars streamed online.

Brilliant discovery?
Yes!
Reprocutions?
Unfortunately!

It now appears that Chris can watch Premiership (i.e. soccer in England) matches on here which means I'll be watching a lot of football.

And he's currently watching Fox News (which like Canadians, the British find horrific and acknowledge it is not a good source of news) which is doing a feature on a girl who won't stop hiccuping. My life is spiraling out of control.

In other news, this week I am going to write editors of teen magazines and try to start soemwhere with this writing. I read this awful article in Grazia magazine. It's Britain's No. 1 Weekly Glossy...this caused some dispute over dinner last night because it's perhaps the only one. Anyway, there was an article on WAGs, i.e. wives and girlfriends of football players, and this woman who wanted to be one because of the posh clothes, fancy cars, exclusive parties. It wasn't ironic. It wasn't even suposed to be tragic. This is what she believed and she'll change everything about her appearance to get what she wants. I think I'll start there, writing some sort of counter article to this one, which is something I did throughout university especially in my Women's Studies class, (who would have guessed I had taken one?).

After having typed all of that, Chris kept trying to talk to me about this Italian adverts or tele something or other and I asked him to now disturb me right now and he stormed out of the room like I didn't care about his passions. This channel is going to curse us.

One last bit. Jess, I want to say thank you for reading and if you read the past blogs and come across the one about our tentative magazine idea and have any ideas for something to write, email me!

Another side note: Chris came back in, clean t shirt in hand. Pissed off. Sprayed deodorant. Isn't speaking. Putting on a clean jumper. Not making eye contact. Fixing his hair. Checking his mobile. Still not speaking. Not looking at me either. Checking out the wardrobe. Left the room.

Today is going to be amazing!

Fresh

Yet another grey day in the country's capital. I'm being brought to the Baring Pub to watch Carling Cup final: Arsenal vs. Chelsea. I'm not that bothered by both going, but the match itself.

Last night a bunch of friends and I made plans to lash, but when it came down to it, everyone was tired, old and unshowered. So Chris and I watched C.S.I. instead, then Twelve Monkeys then Chris finally beat the
Fishy Game


Also in the span of the evening I turned my friend Martin on to C.S.I even though he claims to be unimpressed, he just needs to try a bit harder!

And yes, I still do and will always have to run through the opening credits.

Tonight is the Oscars and in breaking in tradition (it being getting dressed up and eating KFC for my yearly binge) I am watching online at 1:00am in my pjs drinking tea most likely. I'm sure that Chris and I will countlessly quote Forest Whitacker in Last King of Scotland. "But you did not persuade me Nicholas". Amazing film and superb performance. If the Queen wins best picture, I'm sure Chris will be forced to react the same way he did when Ireland crushed England in the rugby last night. Sofa punching. Pig Off! being shouted from his lips
(what does that even mean??)

Mouse Trap

I'm not really an argumentative girl. I have my moments.

Ex-boyfriend used to tease me because he would catch me looking at my feet (they're one of my nicest features). I would never argue that.

Another ex-boyfriend sent me this video today because we had a solid three month long argument that this video, in his opinion is real, and in mine, it's CGI. Always will and forever argue that point.



Boyfriend and I rarely argue if ever. He's British and passive. I'm still quite shy around him.

Sister came to visit with her boyfriend and a friend and we got into our worst argument today. I've felt horrible all day long. I will continue to feel horrible tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.

I don't have an underlying moral to this story. As with anyone I "know" when I'm right and when I'm wrong. It's billowing frustration mixed with some sort of self-righteous cordial. I suppose I fight because I care and I don't fight because care.

Boyfriend is cooking dinner right now. Tonight we'll watch Twelve Monkeys and have two hours worth of pillow chat. I guess this is my non-argumentative way of saying that I clearly if not obviously adore him to no end. Exponentionally happy in that way. Deflated nearly every other way.

Mice like cheese too

I just had an overwhelmingly terrifying experience.

It's a normal Wednesday here. Sunny. Warmer than Ontario. I'm sitting at the table in the lounge, minding my own business when Christopher comes down and gathers up his wash. A few details to add: two architects live in this house and they build models. This fact comes in handy in a minute.

Whilst gathering up his wash, Christopher grabs hold of a loose thread that is attached to a spool of thread used in making models for architecture. He proceeds to walk, unravelling this spool of thread that is now twirling on the hard wood floor. At that exact moment I started to lean to one side of the chair, believing that it was myself who was creating this weird creeky noise. I look at the floor whilst I lean back and forth from my chair. But I stop leaning however the noise continues. I cannot see the twirling, unravelling spool of thread. I start to assume perhaps a mouse is playing with something underneath the table.

Christopher then reaches his room which is two sets of stairs up and the spool of thread darts at me and I yell for him! I think it's the mouse throwing something at me. I put my feet up on another seat and Christopher yells and tells me to look under the table but I am too afraid. As Christopher walks downstairs to see if there is a little beast horrifying an immature 22 year old female, he realizes that there is thread leading all the way to his bedroom and starts to pull it thus allowing the aforementioned girl to see that it was just thread being pulled all along.

The two wind the thread back up and continue on with their day. The boy folds his laundry. But the girl's hands proceed to shake.

Houloumi (maybe?)

Tonight was Shrove (Pancake) Tuesday and we had houloumi with our bacon and crepes. Decadence at its finest.

We have developed the idea of this magazine further and are sort of running with the idea of a "chill out, your band isn't that great" idea. Mainly because here in the UK, the radio, NME, people in general go bananas for bands that yes are alright but aren't the most amazing piece of music to confront us in the past 30 years. Take for instance Klaxons. Good-sort of. Longivity? Unlikely. New Rave. Whatevs.

I'm obviously not very elequent right now seeing as it's past midnight and I'm fatigued. I am however happy to feel this burst of inspiration and creativity and I know ultimately that I need to get my half decent written malarky out there instead of this silly bollocks but either or is fun and maybe a way to hone one's craft? The modern medium I suppose is important such as a blog. Much like a sonnet in poetry (it's not a modern medium or facet of literature...what the hell am I talking about?)

I'm being far too self aware. Time for beddy bies.

Goat's

I am currently eating a Mars bar, looking for a job. Life continued on after the CSI debacle. Thankfully Chris and I could watch the finale of the episode and all is resolved again in my world of materials and television shows.

Chris is hard at work looking for work experience, parusing through the book of publishers and high-lighting the ones he thinks will suit him best. I spent a better portion of today looking through online magazines and seeking out ways to submit works.

The conclusion I came to was that Chris and I have a bountiful number of resources including two housemates who are in architecture and know a great deal about design, Chris needs editorial practice and experience, and I can write, photograph and style all sorts of goodies. Thus Christopher and I are going to collaborate on something web-based. It's not solely for CV purposes but it can't hurt. More details to follow and obviously more brainstorming will have to ensue but I think it's a positive step in the right direction.

I've been feeling very demoralized by the London job scene. On top of that, I've lacked any sort of creative drive so I feel this is a wonderful burst of inspiration and I hope it's not a pipe dream!

Any thoughts?

Stinky

I am raging! For all the wrong reasons.

Chris and I are TRYING to watch an episode of CSI on youtube and everytime we get to the part that just last cut out, the internet dies and we're left frustrated. I can actually feel my blood pulsing through my body because we've attempted to see the finale of this bloody episode and can't seem to get to the end of it. We've reset the router, turned off the computer, opened a new internet browser but as soon as we start to load part 4 of Law of Gravity, we're left in dismay.

Chris has just left to get salad for dinner. I'm being exceptionally cruel to him right now based on the solely on the fact that I can't finish CSI. I'm ridiculously out of line and taking my hatred of the internet out on him. I'm an awful girlfriend and a worse person because of it.

But it's CSI and it's so conviniently wrapped up at the end to allow for easy watching and satisfaction. And I'm not satisfied. I'm frustrated on two levels. One being stupid internet, the other being I want and need to know what happens!

Oh the perils of my life. I do have real problems too. The superficial ones are much funnier and even better when you see how a half finished episode of CSI can basically ruin your day, your relationship and your blood pressure.

Old Cheddar

I physically hurt today. I had an accidental "get absolutely battered without even trying" night last night which has resulted in me feeling like a train wreck. A bunch of friends went to the Baring to do the pub quiz, which has gotten considerabley busier and has a new host (who is a bit obnoxious...). I only had three glasses of red but on an empty tummy and basically I can't remember much past leaving. And the worst part being that everyone was relatively sober. I am a shame. Well ultimately the worst part was that we came in second.

Chris bought me a kebab on the way home (vaguely remember) and I ate whilst speaking to Heman (don't remember at all).

In other news, today is my Valentine's Day celebrations. Chris is taking me here:


Everyman Cinema


And we're going to see the Science of Sleep. Chris book the tickets on Monday and we get to sit on a sofa that has a button for a waiter. Plus we can drink (but I don't know if I'm capable of consuming booze right now). We're also going for dinner in Hampstead which I"m really looking forward to.

And Emma and her boyfriend Simon arrive tomorrow afternoon so I have a full weekend of fun ahead of me. They're leaving for Paris early Sunday morning from Luton Airport (bad chat...haha!) And Suzy has friends coming I believe from Liverpool to stay at the house. It's chaotic round these parts.



I think that Chris looks like an Anglosized Gael Garcia Bernal. Gael of course has a sharper jaw bone structure but they're similar enough...



Actually Chris looks more like Pete Doherty in that photo than anyone else. A clean, unsmacked, rehabilitated Doherety mind.

Turkish equivalent of Swiss

Whoah! The past 24 hours have been intense. Not solely based on Valentine's Day. Chris bought me daisies and Audrey Hepburn box set even though I do have it, but not for this DVD region.

Here's the story:

Last night around 9:00pmish I answer Chris' door to see a man and a woman standing there. The woman asked if my husband or boyfriend was home, but Chris was using the toilet at the time. The man then asked if I knew the woman which I didn't. I kept asking who they were looking for and they said they were looking for my husband or boyfriend. Chris came out of the toilet and said that he didn't know them and that they must have the wrong house. An hour they knock again! They speak to Heman and Chris this time saying that they're looking for a tall yellow haired man who lives here. They said there isn't anyone by this description who lives here. Then Suzy's friend comes by and this couple stop them asking them who lives in this house and she says that she doesn't know. Then they ask who owns this silver car (it of course being Suzy's). She says she doesn't know. We all peer out the window to see the two sitting in a Jeep on the street. We eat dinner and another one of Suzy's friends and I both agree that maybe she's had an affair and her husband is looking the third person. Then they come and knock again! So Heman phones the police around midnight but since he can't see the car, they don't arrive.

This morning, Chris and I wake up around 10:30am to hear a knock at the door. Suzy and Chris both go and answer it and again it's the Turkish man and his wife. And they keep insisting that they have the wrong house but Turkish man says that his cousin followed his wife and that she went to this house, number 5. His wife apparently stares on sheepishly. He says that he's been up for three nights and that we must understand his situation but Suzy keeps insisting that he has the wrong house and that no one has ever seen this woman before and Chris suggests that Turkish man take his cousin out to the house in order to get it right. They spoke for about 5 minutes and it was getting heated, in the way of aggitation not aggression. But we decide to phone the police again because Suzy and I are afraid that if he comes back when we're alone he'll try to break in and search the entire house. Two hours later the police arrive and say they've driven around the few surrounding blocks looking for this couple but can't see their Jeep. So Suzy gives a description and explains the situation. The police leave. There haven't been any knocks since.

Chris doesn't seem the least bit worried. He's been playing Stickman all day and has now bought the castle. Seriously, I can't make this up.

Shreaded

I have opened up the flood gates. Now it's an all out battle to fight temptation of all things fashionable. The main reason I don't like talking about fashion is that I've been a fan since the tender age of foetus and have avidly read Vogue and Elle since I was about 6. Not only do I read the glossies but I am a full wit and tend to read biographies on a regular basis and therefore have read many a fashion house biography. I know history, I know style and I have a long memory. However this brings me back to my point. Now fashion has become so synonomous with Myspace photography on one's profile and fake Louis Vuitton for twelve year olds I choose not to speak about the topic in question. I'm not being self-righteous in saying that I know more etc... it's more to the tune of, I feel that I don't need to gush about my profound knowledge (even though I'm doing it right now blah blah blah). It's just so predictable to say "I was ahead of the game by truly appreciating something then everyone comes along and shits on my dream and calls it their own". I'm not over-protective on something that I've enjoyed, truly appreciated, understand and respect, I just feel constant aggitation towards those who profess this love of counter-culture in a mainstream kind of way (OMG, I'm doing it again...).

I'll bet this mildly pent up rage is concerning my application for Conde Nast. This second .com boom is ruining my life. I think I'd be the happiest if I was floating on some island circa '65. This has become the most self-indulgent project. And to make matters worse, I'm going to the Tate Modern with my new friend Martin tonight.








this is what I would die in when I starved to death in 1965 but had access to Chloe's spring 2007 line. it would fit so well because I would be so skinny.

I swear tomorrow I'll say something useful about the weather or at the very least some small chat.

Cream

Ok back to talking about art in front of art.

I sepnt a better part of Friday evening, (I say better when really I mean the entire evening, after I sepnt 5 hours sexing up my CV on InDesign) looking through March Vogue (which really takes a year to get through anyway) and March Elle with Suzy. Again let me state that we live in London, one of the four fashion capitals of the world and yet we cannot find these shoes anywhere!!





They're Luella by Underground shoes which after much web based research found are supposed to be available at Offspring and Office but they're not there! Well technically speaking they're not at Offspring unil mid March and they're limited eddition and really it's all very heart breaking. I'm discussing with Suzy at this very moment how we're completely lost when it comes to this endeavour. But to add insult to injury, we both saw, on two seperate occasions on Saturday night, girls at the Angel tube stop wearing winkle pickers. Mine were gold, Suzy's were black. The universe is taunting us right now. But the ultimate most frustrating thing about it is, this is London. It is Fashion Week. These shouldn't be this difficult to find. I've checked Offspring in Camden and to my dismass, it's purely trainers there. As well as Camden Office, which was 75% sale. I feel as though I've paid my dues to the shoe gods out there. I have over 99 pairs, 25 of which made the journey with me here, and 2 pairs that will thankfully arrive on Saturday. This is painstakingly the most gruesome exploit of our lust. I'm not a slave to fashion by any means but this is a must have for me.

Another great accessory for this season. Conde Nast employment. Sexy CV is being sent today. Wish me luck with all things pickers and employment.

Processed

As per last post, I hate talking about art in front of art. That's all.

Today was slushy and cold and the perfect example of my expectation of London winter. I had taken advantage of the sunlight for too long. In the mood of grey, I've been feeling nostalgic to the point of exaggerated. I'm creeping up to the five month mark and I do miss many perks and people*.

*Chris and I are listening to the radio and a particular song just came on and he brought up the point that yes, it's a good song but it's always played during dramatic or romantically dramatic points in television and film. I thought it was perfectly suited for my typed words.

These blogs are total malarky aren't they???

Ricotta

I try to only talk about clothing when shopping. I try to not be a typical girl in that sense but it pains me to say this, but even more to look. NYC Fashion Week. Its personification of everything that I see as holy! I'm having a near religious experience as I scrowl through fashion websites showing complete designer collections. I'm waiting for Marc Jacobs bakelite bags to rain from the heavens and shower me with Parisian style. Lela Rose, a new obsession. Bows. Grey and purple and black. As much as I love it, there is the obvious pang of ugh! Knowing that certain women will buy these, or horror of all horrors, be given frocks for free is the eqivalent of the fear of God. Not that I'm living in style hell, it's more of a purgatory. Having no money and living in one of the fashion capitals of the world creates a pain in my heart and a bloody tear in my eye. But there is an option for intervention! The shows are Fall/Winter 2007 which leaves me with ample amount of time to win the Euro millions or make an earnest living or preferably, the best of both worlds! Who says the Catholics and the Protestants can't live in peace? I'm Jewish and I can have it all!