spreads

Last night was fantastic (sorry you missed it Martin). Even though we lost the Baring pub quiz by 3 bloody points, we still had a wildly entertaining evening.

And as we were leaving the pub I, with red wine of course pumping through me, I felt this wonderful feeling of comradery, and basically luck. I can't believe that all the friends of friends that I've met have been so lovely. I have yet to encounter a cruel friend, or even a moody friend (Chris is moody however, but I can deal with that). Considering I've moved countries and met entirely new and different people, everyone has been wonderful. How lucky am I?

Pez and I are about to play Monopoly Here and Now with credit cards instead of money. It's pretty awesome. Also I'm going back to Birmingham again tomorrow for a birthday soiree thingy. But after tomorrow I need to cut the booze out. I'm getting a tummy and it's not pretty.

These photos though, are. We had a dance party in the lounge upon our return. That and a facebook sesh. Internet. Real time. Good times.

please

The last post, and this post confirm more and more just how self righteous.

I am, and I will be the first to admit that. I'm only self righteous when it comes to jobs and cool things such as concerts, art, fashion, you know, that irrelevant stuff to most but because I hold materialistic things such as a headband deep within, I take personal offense when I see someone where one badly, or not as good as me. Then I start to rationalize their fashion flair and the fact that they don't have any, or very little because they did innitiate the headband but could not pull it off as well as I do.

bitch bitch bitch (I am referring to myself...)

Last night, a bunch of friends and I went to see the Shins. I'm 22 turning 23 in December. I have been listening to the Shins since the tender age of 17. I was really into them then. I saw Garden State and thought uh oh! It's the same sort of feeling I had when I watched the O.C. Now not to be self righteous and all because maybe it's my age that is preventing me from fully enjoying live bands, or maybe it's the 17 year olds now jamming away and singing along like it ain't no thang, or it could be the annoying Cockneys at the bar who wouldn't shut up, or this is completely pointless to dissect because I'm over it now.

Chris is speaking to his mum on the phone. We are returning to Birmingham this weekend for a birthday extravaganza. The discussion of what to do for dinner was brought up and Chris' mum knows that I am a food seperater i.e. I don't like food touching other food on my plate. But she is going to make a casserole for dinner on Saturday evening and wanted to make sure that I was ok with carrots touching other foods within a bake.

As you can tell, I had to get over being too cool for everything and just lighten up. But I honestly think that I'm done with live gigs for a while. Let's just blame my old age ok? No no, it's because I'm a quietish person and don't like people bouncing along, screaming lyrics and Cockneys talking bollocks in their "cheeky, seedy accents" (as Chris refers to it).

Am I justified at all?

frantic cheese

Well....

When you get to the position that Chris and I are in, and complain and complain about how such idiotic people get good jobs something needs to be done!

And that something is searching people on Facebook who have jobs you want, and commenting on how they're not pretty enough to work for Conde Nast (that comment was mine) or searching "Harper Collins", reading one of their editorial assistant's blog and seeing that he can't even spell the word weird (Chris then calling him "big fat twat"). We're not bitter. No. Not in the least.

I'm now going to hang myself in the door frame.

Chris is scribbling on past tennant's evelopes saying "NOT AT THIS ADDRESS".

We're actually entering madness. I doubt we'll come out the other side.

eating olives in search of

I have a huge bone to pick with the Transport for London. After a great night at Ed's, Christopher and I wait at a bus stop for the number 76. It's a request stop. We see it coming. We both flag out for it. It drives right past us, not full, not dim, not NOT IN SERVICE, it just did not want to pick us up. And this isn't the first time this has happened. It's London, there should be rocket cars that fly us home whenever we want not night buses that come every 48 minutes and don't stop. I was not happy, nor was Christopher.

Aside from the bus mishap, yesterday and evening was fantastic. I went exploring Brick Lane which I had only done I believe twice before and Chris found a chair that I will buy him when we move in just the two of us. I also got mistaken for Kirsten Dunst (how suiting with the celeb look-a-like thingy). Well not officially, but this guy said something to his friend, then I made it really obvious that I don't have an english accent. And Chris felt special that someone would believe that he could be a Hollywood boyfriend. We are silly and but mostly pathetic.

After Brick Lane we went to the Baring to watching Israel play England in a Euro blah blah blah, but I had to leave half way through due to the most annoying Cockney behind us whose laugh is still haunting me. Here is an example of his conversation:

arrrrrr bllluuuu eeeeeehh? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO

It was awful. I wish to never speak of it again.

And after all that, we went to Ed's to celebrate Jonah/Alex (same person, two names) birthday. It was very tame, but since we lost an hour, we didn't leave until around 4:30am, and when everyone else decided to go to Soho to get chinese or the likes of, Chris and I thought we'll get the bus and eat something on the way.

What we did eat in the end when we finally did arrive home was green olives and a glass of milk. Try it, it's amazing. I have been known to eat pickles with chocolate milk as well. I like the salty/creamy ratio, and this is the second time I've done that drunk and woken up without a hangover. I was disheartened when there was no cheese however.

And that is the day in the life of me. And for those who don't know what Brick Lane is, it has vintage shops, furniture, bagels, and lots of food. It's very indie, very cool. No we did not wear drainpipes and blunt fringe. We're not those types of cappucino sippers.

Cloth

Why does this cold spell have to plague London now? Chris, Pez and I are sitting in the lounge, and each of us are wrapped in duvets. Pez being wrapped is understandable but as I mentioned before I'm packing on meat now and Chris is beefy enough to keep warm however it's far too cold now.

On a positive note, I feel very inspired right now to write some articles for a variety of different magazines that accept unsolicited submissions. Ironically however, the cold weather makes me want to wear silly clothing in order to stay warm and practical as opposed to my spring/summer clothing which is binding, low cut, breezy and fresh. I am sick of my winter clothing and want to break free of layers (not the good king, the bulky kind).

Last night's agenda was going to the theatre in Holborn. A Mid Summer Night's Dream, a play I don't really like however it was performed wonderfully last night. The Mechanicals (or players) of course stole the show, and other performances I've seen of the play have completely cut out their last scene and end the play with the lovers walking off with everything sorted out. One fantastic thing about watching theatre reminds me of how much I DON'T want to act but how much more I want to write.

I started a short story over two months ago and I haven't touched it since. I have found my continuing theme though, or something that my mind wants to explore because it's something that isn't me at all, well components are of course, but the main device I'm going to use to explore isn't something I know too much about (personal experience, not general knowledge of the activity). And what is this activity one might ask, a probative question considering the answer...

Masturbation. Well compartmentalised people. Actually everyone is compartmentalised but using that compartment of masturbation and the fantasy versus reality etc... I think it's interesting. And considering that masturbation was brought up after the play and how it went hush hush because one of our friends didn't want to hear that our other friend wanks at least once a day. And knowing that another friend wanks 3 times a day.

For reasons unknown I find this interesting so interesting, even more interesting that certain people are willing to divulge this information to others like it's nothing, where certain characters would never admit to it. I think that's what I like most about the topic of sex, how open people can be about it, or how completely closed off others can be and the reasons for both of their outlooks on the subject. That's where the compartmentalisation comes in. How your sexual self doesn't neccsearily reflect your day to day self, work self, sibling self, first date self, dinner with family self. And it goes further beyond that as well, the fantastical self.

See I've got lots to work with. Like my play I wrote for Women's Study that dealt with urination, class, gender, race, and ummm perhaps social status I suppose I like the pseudo-taboo subjects, because everyone inadvertantly talks about having to use the toilet, just using those words as well. And everyone has to pee at some point (cathater or not!).

Toilet and masturbation culture, cool right? And like the boys just spoke of, someone could excuse themselves and say that they're going for a wee when really they're going for a wank. I swear Pez and Chris just recited a story in which they suspect that happened.

I'm running out of things associated with

First of all, Brynn if you're reading this around 3:15pm GMT then sign onto msn so we can have a chat. I'm desperate to speak to you as well. I got the facebook and I replied asap.

Next, I'm now blogging in real time.

And next, just for fun, here are my celeb look alikes.



I hate that it's warmer in Southern Ontario than it is here in London. My poor little tootsies are freezing.

whopper with

I swear to you, I never ate Burger King ever. I think the last time I had it I was around 10. But because Marylebone is where you catch the Chiltern train to return to Birmingham, one must make it a tradition whenever they are there to eat it. And now I've had Burger King at least 6 times since being here in London for I have gone back to BIrmingham three times* on the train.





*Well four but I traveled alone that time and felt it was wrong to not have a buffer, someone else who is indulging in the worst of the worst to be judged along side of me.

Now that being said, I'm getting chubby again. As some of you know, I had my own car at home. This meant I drove everywhere and included myself in the littlest amount of excercise possible. This lead to the end of August, me accumulating "love handles". I would participate in an occasional swim at my mother's but all in all, I was starting to not fit into my jeans.

For example: Come this time last year, I went out for all you can eat sushi with Brynn, Kate and I think perhaps Elena. Unfortunately I made a bad life choice by wearing the absolute tightest jeans I could possibley ever own. I had to phone up my dad and ask him if he could bring me a different pair of jeans (oh and the jerk didn't!).

So from now on, no more Marylebone! I'm staying far away from the station. Other than that, I eat quite heathelly. The problem is I hardly exercise. But I vow to have my OAC body back, the one where my art teacher asked if I excercised and I replied "by walking to and from the fridge". I hate getting old!! And by the way, I tried on those super tight jeans, and it was a no go for a button up.

Now on a completely related topic, so obviously related my tummy hurts, Chris got onto the days top scores for Dolphin Olympics. I'm beaming with pride and slight shame. Dolphin Olympics, the game where one week you're excited to get over 100 000, and the next week you score 13 million! My high score is only 4 million. I need to work on my skillz.



I highly recommend it:


Dolphin Olympics

I've got absolutely nothing else to say. But it sounds like someone is stealing our recycling bin...

nope, Suzy just walked in.

One more thing to add....

Either Chris and I have really stupid, weird, goat related conversations or we speak in a nerd voice to eachother and talk about Hamburger Union or Dolphin Olympics.

ok bye

Cult Following Cheese

I have fantastic friends who are so supportive of me and this made me smile for about half an hour when I was in the square listening to music and having a think. My good friend Brynn who happens to be in Taiwan emailed me today telling me of her troubles and seeking my advice and letting it be known that she loves the blog, and Martin is a daily reader. Also Alessandro reinforcing the fact that I'm a good writer today in a Facebook post when I said that I was feeling down about my creative skillz and me wanting to become a dentist. Even though I believe this is just silly rubbish, I love that friends read it especially since so many of us are dispursed throughout the world and it's a good way to read what silly things are on our mind.

Hoakiness aside, this blog is dedicated to Martin because he is stuck at work and is missing out on a party and will completely understand what this is regarding.

Chris has trotted off to the pub because England are apparently "dicking all over New Zealand in the cricket" and yes I actually understand cricket now however something funny happened before so I felt I should touch fingers to keyboard and write it out.

Two mornings ago, I woke up and really really need the toilet. Chris then started tickling me and I thought I was going to let it all go. And he said if this wasn't his bed that he would tickle me until I wet the myself. The past twenty minutes I've been computing and doing my computer pee dance which consists of me jiggling around to keep my mind off the impending wee. Christpher decides to tickle me again and this time I say, I will have to pee on your face. Then I asked if that would warrant a break up and he said yes, but then I asked if it was grounds for divorce and he said no. Good to know his boundries before we committ till death us do part (notice the proper grammar).

How this relates to Martin. Last night at the pub quiz, we were sitting around having a pint and a glass of wine and Martin said he knows all about our relationship because he reads it and basically this blog is done in real time so everyone should be up to date.

I don't know how this got brought up but we told Martin about the weird conversations that Chris and I have. The one we spoke of in particular was when Chris and I had a conversation about beastiality (neither of us have committed, don't worry!) because for some reason we were wondering the size of a goat's penis. We wiki-ed goats penis but only goat came up and didn't inform us on the size of the appendige.

Ummmmm maybe you needed to be there.

Regardless, it's nice that my friends read this and hopefully won't judge me based on this post. If Martin is cool with it, and can even throw in a story about a man falling in love with a horse (not him, someone he saw on television, I bet!!) then everyone should be ok with it. But that's just a tidbit from my bizzare relationship in real time. And our friend Martin who judges not and is a cult member to this cheese.

Holey

I saw Inland Empire last night. That's all I can really say on the subject. David Lynch?

Chris is staring at the screen whilst I type this. I feel uncomfortable. I don't care if I invited him over, it's uncomfortable.

Tonight we do the Baring Quiz! We win?

And speaking of winning, I've been on a massive Scrabble winning streak.

Too bad I'm losing at life. (no job).

Square

I just spent about two hours uploading this photos to photobucket and then resizing them.

At least the weather is nice. Chris and I went to the square by our house and read, did the crossword and I wrote in my journal. I love skipping Canadian winter!

The characatures (spelling???) are by Tet. They're quite fun too. I felt my blog was lacking visual interest therefore I decided to write about how great flashy things are. Who reads these days anyway?















In other news, Chris found on the CBS website the latest CSI episodes available to watch online.

In other, other news, I still do not have a job but am applying like a banshee.

Vacuum sealed

I've just done the most unthinkable thing. The kiss of death. Life as I know it is over NOW!

I am however sitting in a pristine room. However, after cleaning out every corner, every drawer, even microscopic spec of dirty Branson dirt, smelly boy towel, illness ridden bed sheets, I've decided that this is my inevitable future should Christopher and I decide to marry.

Cohabitating with a boy whose mummy always cleaned up after him is never a good idea if you come from a family with three other siblings and have been doing your own laundry since the age of 10, maybe even 9.

It is slightly my fault because Mr. Branson used reverse psychology to get me to clean his dresser. We're sharing a wardrobe, the one I mentioned earlier, and I need majority of the space because there is no room to place my clothes in the dresser. So we had to lessen the amount of clothes that he hangs up. By doing so we had to make room in his dresser i.e. I had to make room in his dresser because he kept arguing that nothing would fit.

So today, three hours of heavy duty cleaning took place. And by the time I got to his dresser, where I honestly had about 40 socks laid across my lap and as I searched for the other I realized this is my fate most likely for the rest of my life. I rearranged his drawers, matched his socks, even refolded all his pants (boxers). I have become my own worst nightmare.

I am not morally opposed to taking care of my boyfriend. I'll iron his shirts if he asked. I suppose the only problem I have with this is the way my own mother will perceive it. I am an university educated 22 year old who came to England to get published. What has happened? I met a bloke and am now folding his socks and undies.

I am comfortable enough with my womanhood to take care of a man (or in Chris' case, boy, even though he is 23) but am I doing this for myself or for him? Cleanliness is obviously for me. I have traits of OCD. But ultimately I was thrilled to see just how happy Chris was at the sight of our new room together after he enjoyed a trip to the bank and a hair cut.

Holy shit! That is what my dad does every Friday. Bank and haircut. My dad being the least domesticated male on the face of the planet. My mother didn't neccesarily refuse to match his socks but we've had a house cleaner for years who does my fathers laundry most likely for that reason. It is under my personal opinion that my parents divorced because my mom wasn't enough like my father's mom who cooked, cleaned and took care of him long after dental school, long after he moved from Montreal to Toronto, long after he moved to St. Catharines from Toronto. Now my father is living with a quintessential Jewish mother type who cooks for him every night but has hired someone to match his socks.

Ok, that was long winded but I think I've deviated from my mother and father. Marriage and divorce is such a problem now and I hope to never be (divorced, not married). Maybe this keen appreciation of folding, cleaning and general housekeep is nature's way of allowing boy/girl relationships to last longer and be fulfilled. Chris is a renaissance man not a 21st century man. Maybe I'm the 21st century woman. I know my place in the world as a woman and folding my boyfriend's underwear has nothing to do with it. I'll bet he'd be just as inclined to fold mine (I would be weirded out though only because I don't want anyone touching my knick knacks).

This is very great and enlighting because I certainly thoght this was the kiss of death. I will gladly fold his underwear and match his socks and he will fully appreciate it thus leading us to having a fulfilling relationship of give and take. That's the key.

But I am still reluctant to tell my mother about today's chore.

Lactose

I have a pounding head ache and I believe it's weather related. I am not weathered. London is blowing away right now.

I've had a sinus head ache and a cold for the past 5 days. I've been sick more times in this city than I have been in the past year and a half. However, this cold doesn't slow me down. much.

Last night was filled with vaudevillian wardrobe moving set to the soundtrack of klesmer music. We had to move a giant wardrobe from the top floor, down a narrow staircase to the second floor, dodging the hanging chandelier and trying our best not to scrape the new paint. Then move the smaller, lighter wardrobe from the second floor to the top floor, up the narrow staircase, dodging the hanging chandelier and trying out best not to scrape the new paint.

Down came the first. The klesmer band plays on. Up goes the second. But wait! It gets stuck on the chain of the lamp and pulls it out, causing the chandelier t plummit down the stairs (thankfully not injuring anyone except Sid whose leg was brushed and Hazel who was indireclty injured by a shard of glass through the newspaper she used to collect the pieces). The lights went out. The klesmer band plays on.

There are now live wires dangling from the ceiling on the landing. Apparently it's "easy" to rewire a lamp. I will be sure to be out of the house when this happens. I will be sure to turn the radio off as to instigate more circus like behaviour from silly twenty somethings who believe they're invisible, can lift furniture, can twist and pivot and tape doors shut. It was nothing short of spectacle.

Cut the

Goodbye Camden. Hello Angel.

I moved today out of the chaos and into the upper middle class white hood that is Islington's Angel. My life in London consisting of:

one very large suitcase just full of clothing
another large suitcase for shoes, bags and one winter jacket
box with bits and bobs i.e. back issues of Vogue, Rushdie's Satanic Verses, filled up journal, and one ikea catalogue
one hamper full ridiculously old clothing that have not been washed in nearly two months
one ikea bag full of pillows, blanket and fitted sheet.

My suitcases and stuff are in the middle of Chris' floor.

I am co-habitating with a boyfriend. I have never done this before. I slept over at my ex's quite often and he slept at my home and we were rarely apart but there was never a merger of things. I am literally an adult now or in an adult relationship. One down side to my illegal sublet status; we can't claim that we're living together i.e. I can't get residency in that fashion. Bloody bureaucratic country. Looks like wedding bells for me in a year then (that is if I stay here). "It's the happiest administrative procedure of my life". Ha! Hardly! I tease Chris about having to marry me but really....I'm only half joking.