This may be a bit ironic, or perhaps wise. I'm trying to write a novel and I have all the alchemy in my head but when I put it down, it sounds so snarky and really concise, which obviously...isn't my style. And I hate the way it looks and more so, the way it sounds. I have the ideas in my head, it's been brewing for ages and I did start something earlier this month, but I can't stand it now. I'm not sure if I've lit it on fire now, if I'm being far too cerebral, if I'm so conscious of what I'm doing it sounds so nasty and so forced.
For starters, I'm a fast typist. Secondly, I'm a very fast writer. My fingers can think faster that my mind sometimes making the whole writing process a breeze. I had no problems in university writing papers the day before they were due, even 5000 word essays because I find it easy to clear my mind and think streamlined. I used to constantly write short stories when I was younger. From the time we had our first computer up until the end of highschool, I was constantly writing short stories that my parents would read. My final project in OAC drama was to write a play, and did. And it was performed in front of the school and family.
And even blogging, I use this as a tool to harness ideas and it helps me write concise anecdotes whether they're meaningful or not. And I have a written journal, that's used to mostly wax lyrical about my great life, something I wouldn't ever want anyone to read. Those methods have proved highly successful for me.
Why am I failing at this? I was talking to Chris about this the other night that I'm so intimidated by this criticism because he works in publishing and knows the inner frameworks of what is deemed successful. Not that I'm thriving on being that but knowing what Chris knows and letting him edit my work makes me not want to write anything. Which is maybe some sort of subconscious block on my abilities. He reads my blogs and for some reason I have no problem with that, full restitution.
My fingers are tapping out a beat on the keyboard, without pushing down on the buttons. Something else I do when I'm concentrating maybe too hard. Which I think I am. Doing it again. I think this is how sexual frustration must feel for a teenage boy. Knowing that should be able to do something, probably quite well, but you have to keep practicing on your own.
Friday 28 November 2008
Thursday 27 November 2008
werewolves
Yesterday was passed just splendidly. Old episodes of the OC on dvd, warm lunch, yoga, all the makings of tranquility. Wednesday is usually my counterproductive day then Thursday I clean up the mess that I've made and feel better about doing nothing the day before. I was very mellowed out.
Took the bus into Angel and met Chris for an early showing of Choke and Mucho Mas. We had an array of sweeties and laughed at inappropriate lines in the film (that you are supposed to laugh at but I think everyone in the cinema didn't feel it was right, and at some points, we were the only two laughing, which makes it feel illicit but you know it's not). Still very calm, serene. We get back home and I call my sister. We laugh quite a bit, mostly at things about my brother. It's all very docile still.
Bed time. Chris and I laugh and this is usually the time that I torture him by making whiny noises (by torture, I mean just doing impressions of him...whining). Brushed teeth. Washed face. Still placid, but a little bit cold. We always read before bed and I'm currently reading Dork Whore by Iris Bahr. It's her travel memoir and it's quite funny however it does not invoke any crazy fantastical subconscious memos in my mind so just bare that thought.
Quietly we read, sometimes we read stuff out loud to each other that we find particularly funny. Then we hear all this roaring. Our bedroom is on the canal side of the flat towards the back and it sounds like it's coming from beside us and to the front. It's a bit alarming but Chris doesn't seem to think much of it. It's getting progressively louder now, more phlegmy, quite visceral. We look at each other a bit confused and Chris thinks it's someone watching tv, but my immediate reaction is tyrannosaurus rex. I'm rather tense now but Chris doesn't seem phased. It kind of stops, then starts again ever more loudly.
I'm thankful that we're in the flat but know that a t rex could easily break down our front door. And now the noises seem like they're all around us, and there are people now shouting and I am genuinely afraid. I remember after I saw Jurassic Park in cinema with my family, I dreamt a t rex was in our house and I lodged myself between two sofas. But I can still picture from my dream, looking up and seeing his big bite chomping down but unable to get me. This all comes flashing back.
We decide we need to investigate because its' been going on for over half an hour now and it's nearly 1am. So we go into the kitchen and open the window and hear all this shouting and nonsense. And we can see people across the road are standing on their balconies watching something happening in the distance. The angle is too sharp for us to see anything so Chris opens the front door and leans out. I yell for him to a)not get shot and b)not get eaten.
Yeah, it was just some super drunk guy, sitting on a wall, who was yelling at the police about how "he saw death" when was young. Roar.
Took the bus into Angel and met Chris for an early showing of Choke and Mucho Mas. We had an array of sweeties and laughed at inappropriate lines in the film (that you are supposed to laugh at but I think everyone in the cinema didn't feel it was right, and at some points, we were the only two laughing, which makes it feel illicit but you know it's not). Still very calm, serene. We get back home and I call my sister. We laugh quite a bit, mostly at things about my brother. It's all very docile still.
Bed time. Chris and I laugh and this is usually the time that I torture him by making whiny noises (by torture, I mean just doing impressions of him...whining). Brushed teeth. Washed face. Still placid, but a little bit cold. We always read before bed and I'm currently reading Dork Whore by Iris Bahr. It's her travel memoir and it's quite funny however it does not invoke any crazy fantastical subconscious memos in my mind so just bare that thought.
Quietly we read, sometimes we read stuff out loud to each other that we find particularly funny. Then we hear all this roaring. Our bedroom is on the canal side of the flat towards the back and it sounds like it's coming from beside us and to the front. It's a bit alarming but Chris doesn't seem to think much of it. It's getting progressively louder now, more phlegmy, quite visceral. We look at each other a bit confused and Chris thinks it's someone watching tv, but my immediate reaction is tyrannosaurus rex. I'm rather tense now but Chris doesn't seem phased. It kind of stops, then starts again ever more loudly.
I'm thankful that we're in the flat but know that a t rex could easily break down our front door. And now the noises seem like they're all around us, and there are people now shouting and I am genuinely afraid. I remember after I saw Jurassic Park in cinema with my family, I dreamt a t rex was in our house and I lodged myself between two sofas. But I can still picture from my dream, looking up and seeing his big bite chomping down but unable to get me. This all comes flashing back.
We decide we need to investigate because its' been going on for over half an hour now and it's nearly 1am. So we go into the kitchen and open the window and hear all this shouting and nonsense. And we can see people across the road are standing on their balconies watching something happening in the distance. The angle is too sharp for us to see anything so Chris opens the front door and leans out. I yell for him to a)not get shot and b)not get eaten.
Yeah, it was just some super drunk guy, sitting on a wall, who was yelling at the police about how "he saw death" when was young. Roar.
Monday 24 November 2008
chilly
I am freezing. I am a warm person but I am freezing. This weekend dropped about 33 degrees. Early Friday evening, I met with Skye and went for wine and private club tapas (which, to be honest was only mini fish and chips and chips and chips) then Chris and I were supposed to go out with Pippa and Jonas however the gig we ordered tickets for, sold out before they could acquire. So Chris and I went alone. I'm not so much into new music as I am into discovering music that is new to me and I think Friday night was an excellent example of such.
I'm not snobby, pretentious, wankery (I hope) about music however I do feel strongly against the over-hype of something mediocre. We saw this band/chick named Little Boots which people keep banging on about. And not that she was bad, but each of her songs sounded like a disco song. It could have been the wine that made me hear things other than the way I'm supposed to hear them, but the first song they played sounded exactly like 'Ring my Bell'. I take grievance to the idea that someone could write that they're/she is so amazing when she sounds like a song from one of the most panned musical genres. I know my argument has serious holes but my feet are cold and I don't wish to dig deeper.
Yesterday, Chris and I had tickets to see Clinic, who I have never seen live before. I guess we were on some musical escapade this weekend because we rarely go to gigs any more, unless it's something really worth it. Anyway, so Clinic when they perform wear scrubs, doctors mask etc and because I hadn't seen them live, I wondered how they would sound singing through their masks which sparked this huge debate/argument with Chris and I about musicians who wear costumes/have stage personaes/use a shtick and whether when they record, should they wear their outfits or not. I don't want to get into the nitty gritty because before we had this argument, I said that I felt as a person that I'm "post-pretentious" and what we discussed, that really did carry on ALL DAY LONG makes me sound like a supertwat.
Anyway, so when Clinic perform, they cut slits in their doctor's masks so they can sing without the restraint. I thought it made them look like scary birds. Nonetheless, that was an excellent gig.
I'm not snobby, pretentious, wankery (I hope) about music however I do feel strongly against the over-hype of something mediocre. We saw this band/chick named Little Boots which people keep banging on about. And not that she was bad, but each of her songs sounded like a disco song. It could have been the wine that made me hear things other than the way I'm supposed to hear them, but the first song they played sounded exactly like 'Ring my Bell'. I take grievance to the idea that someone could write that they're/she is so amazing when she sounds like a song from one of the most panned musical genres. I know my argument has serious holes but my feet are cold and I don't wish to dig deeper.
Yesterday, Chris and I had tickets to see Clinic, who I have never seen live before. I guess we were on some musical escapade this weekend because we rarely go to gigs any more, unless it's something really worth it. Anyway, so Clinic when they perform wear scrubs, doctors mask etc and because I hadn't seen them live, I wondered how they would sound singing through their masks which sparked this huge debate/argument with Chris and I about musicians who wear costumes/have stage personaes/use a shtick and whether when they record, should they wear their outfits or not. I don't want to get into the nitty gritty because before we had this argument, I said that I felt as a person that I'm "post-pretentious" and what we discussed, that really did carry on ALL DAY LONG makes me sound like a supertwat.
Anyway, so when Clinic perform, they cut slits in their doctor's masks so they can sing without the restraint. I thought it made them look like scary birds. Nonetheless, that was an excellent gig.
Tuesday 18 November 2008
presumably
I have this awful stomach ache right now. It's as if I drunk half a pint of bleach (I haven't
rest assured. How I feel is an assumption of how it would feel to drink half a pint of bleach).
I'm a bit confused as well because I hear the clock in our kitchen ticking, except the battery died last week. And no, rest assured, it's not the assumed sound of my typing that I think is the ticking.
Maybe I haven't been drinking bleach but rather, sniffing glue.
That's a falsity as well. But I did only eat half a salad this evening for dinner before feeling so full and sick to my stomach. Assumably, I'm getting Chris' flu.
rest assured. How I feel is an assumption of how it would feel to drink half a pint of bleach).
I'm a bit confused as well because I hear the clock in our kitchen ticking, except the battery died last week. And no, rest assured, it's not the assumed sound of my typing that I think is the ticking.
Maybe I haven't been drinking bleach but rather, sniffing glue.
That's a falsity as well. But I did only eat half a salad this evening for dinner before feeling so full and sick to my stomach. Assumably, I'm getting Chris' flu.
Monday 17 November 2008
wwwords
Reorganise, revamp and never mention any boring bits again. This is my promise.
But I have now succumb to bare legs, house coat, Uggs (which I only wear inside, I have cold extremities, not that it does excuse that choice, but at the very least, they're not crocs), glasses, sloppy hair, cups of tea and tissues. It's a very lovely site indeed.
Yesterday, Chris and I were supposed to go to Argos except he wasn't feeling very well and it was pouring with rain. I've read our 7lbs in 7 days juice book and Jason Vale keeps banging on about mini trampolines and how NASA thinks it's the perfect form on exercise as you use nearly every muscle in your body. And I figure that jumping up and down is better than sitting on my ass so I thought we should get one. Chris of course, being so rational and/or a party pooper, thinks it's a bit silly. But I know he'll be jealous when I'm bouncing around and he's doing nothing. I've already set out rules that if he makes fun, he can't jump.
Regardless, I have never been to Argos and I'm a bit nervous about the protocol. So Chris explained it very clearly for me to understand. Essentially, it's the internet but in person. Here is a more detailed version of Chris' theory:
"So you walk in and there are tables with brochures on them. You search through and find what you need. Basically Argos was invented before the internet but it's the same principle. You look through pictures in these brochures and once you find what you're after, you write it down, bring it to the front desk and the people then call the men in the back who go through their warehouse and find it for you. You have to wait about 10 minutes but then they bring it out from the back for you".
Wisely put. But then I started thinking of the etymology of the word INTERNET. So I looked it up:
But I have now succumb to bare legs, house coat, Uggs (which I only wear inside, I have cold extremities, not that it does excuse that choice, but at the very least, they're not crocs), glasses, sloppy hair, cups of tea and tissues. It's a very lovely site indeed.
Yesterday, Chris and I were supposed to go to Argos except he wasn't feeling very well and it was pouring with rain. I've read our 7lbs in 7 days juice book and Jason Vale keeps banging on about mini trampolines and how NASA thinks it's the perfect form on exercise as you use nearly every muscle in your body. And I figure that jumping up and down is better than sitting on my ass so I thought we should get one. Chris of course, being so rational and/or a party pooper, thinks it's a bit silly. But I know he'll be jealous when I'm bouncing around and he's doing nothing. I've already set out rules that if he makes fun, he can't jump.
Regardless, I have never been to Argos and I'm a bit nervous about the protocol. So Chris explained it very clearly for me to understand. Essentially, it's the internet but in person. Here is a more detailed version of Chris' theory:
"So you walk in and there are tables with brochures on them. You search through and find what you need. Basically Argos was invented before the internet but it's the same principle. You look through pictures in these brochures and once you find what you're after, you write it down, bring it to the front desk and the people then call the men in the back who go through their warehouse and find it for you. You have to wait about 10 minutes but then they bring it out from the back for you".
Wisely put. But then I started thinking of the etymology of the word INTERNET. So I looked it up:
Saturday 15 November 2008
oh wait, there's still more to come
Here's a friendly tip: profile your taxi driver before you get in his car.
Yesterday I received some shocking news about my marriage visa and another 3 hour interview and another £600 payment would need to be made. I went off the deep end a bit about it on the phone to Chris in the afternoon because I do feel like a second class citizen and am so tired of discussing my personal relationship with strangers in a formal matter. It's unnerving and feel it's demoralising considering I'm educated, speak the language am from the Common Wealth. Clearly I have a massive chip on my shoulder but it's been over 6 months of this shit and yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back.
I was supposed to meet up with old friends from work yesterday earlier in the afternoon then head over to meet everyone else, presumably for dinner so I didn't eat before hand. A friend met me for a quick tea then we headed to Soho. Evidently dinner was not being had by all and I'm neurotic and can't really eat in front of people when they're not. So I ordered a beetroot tart (beetroot being a new super food that I'm fastly enjoying). Another friendly tip: Try not to drink so much wine when all you've eaten is a nouveau cuisine tart. Not too embarrassing to behold (fingers crossed) and it was great to see everyone from work again. So the evening comes to a close around 10.30 because people have other plans/are exhausted from a heavy work week.
So I plop myself in a taxi and for some reason I get all worked up about my immigration status and the credit crunch and start a friendly conversation with the taxi driver that turns into basically a shouting match. I don't know why but this has happened before (minus the shouting) that I'm picked up by a social conservative- probably a driver for the BNP. He starts yelling at me that I should either leave his country or "pay up and shut up". He was upset that Obama was elected as he doesn't trust blacks or Asians, and when we started discussing education, someone else felt that he had a chip on his shoulder as well. Even sitting in front of my flat we kept arguing (amazingly though, he had turned the meter off). I paid, went upstairs and told Chris then ate some chips.
As awful as it is to hear about someone's racial prejudices, especially from someone who has such an empty argument, it was a bit of an eye opener to myself that I need to chill out. Before coming to the UK I had never thought about immigration, I didn't even give race or religion a real second thought either because I was brought up accepting and acknowledging equality, judgement on character. Now being here and immersed in it, I realise and understand completely why so many people enter this country, enter Canada, enter the US or virtually any other western country illegally. It's an elitist system where money and class coexist. I was so hell bent on being Canadian, being Common Wealth that my right to live here and work here should be granted- but it's not really the case at all. It does have its advantage because I have to take an english literacy test but ultimately it's if you have the money to pay for each phase of acquiring a life here that counts. You have to pay for your visas, cannot recourse public funds however you can't work either when it's being processed so therefore you have to have money to live on essentially for 6 months.
In an age where education is ubiquitous and where we're shifting from being cash rich and time poor, it's interesting to field these questions. I'm so sick of ranting about this because I'm losing my point but my own social prejudices are being questioned and the idea that this is not equality for all is quite demeaning. I'm fortunate enough to have the funds to support myself and this stinky bureaucratic process and yes as a Canadian I feel that I have a certain entitlement to be here, living and working with my British husband however I'm sure there are many, plenty of others who aren't as lucky.
Yesterday I received some shocking news about my marriage visa and another 3 hour interview and another £600 payment would need to be made. I went off the deep end a bit about it on the phone to Chris in the afternoon because I do feel like a second class citizen and am so tired of discussing my personal relationship with strangers in a formal matter. It's unnerving and feel it's demoralising considering I'm educated, speak the language am from the Common Wealth. Clearly I have a massive chip on my shoulder but it's been over 6 months of this shit and yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back.
I was supposed to meet up with old friends from work yesterday earlier in the afternoon then head over to meet everyone else, presumably for dinner so I didn't eat before hand. A friend met me for a quick tea then we headed to Soho. Evidently dinner was not being had by all and I'm neurotic and can't really eat in front of people when they're not. So I ordered a beetroot tart (beetroot being a new super food that I'm fastly enjoying). Another friendly tip: Try not to drink so much wine when all you've eaten is a nouveau cuisine tart. Not too embarrassing to behold (fingers crossed) and it was great to see everyone from work again. So the evening comes to a close around 10.30 because people have other plans/are exhausted from a heavy work week.
So I plop myself in a taxi and for some reason I get all worked up about my immigration status and the credit crunch and start a friendly conversation with the taxi driver that turns into basically a shouting match. I don't know why but this has happened before (minus the shouting) that I'm picked up by a social conservative- probably a driver for the BNP. He starts yelling at me that I should either leave his country or "pay up and shut up". He was upset that Obama was elected as he doesn't trust blacks or Asians, and when we started discussing education, someone else felt that he had a chip on his shoulder as well. Even sitting in front of my flat we kept arguing (amazingly though, he had turned the meter off). I paid, went upstairs and told Chris then ate some chips.
As awful as it is to hear about someone's racial prejudices, especially from someone who has such an empty argument, it was a bit of an eye opener to myself that I need to chill out. Before coming to the UK I had never thought about immigration, I didn't even give race or religion a real second thought either because I was brought up accepting and acknowledging equality, judgement on character. Now being here and immersed in it, I realise and understand completely why so many people enter this country, enter Canada, enter the US or virtually any other western country illegally. It's an elitist system where money and class coexist. I was so hell bent on being Canadian, being Common Wealth that my right to live here and work here should be granted- but it's not really the case at all. It does have its advantage because I have to take an english literacy test but ultimately it's if you have the money to pay for each phase of acquiring a life here that counts. You have to pay for your visas, cannot recourse public funds however you can't work either when it's being processed so therefore you have to have money to live on essentially for 6 months.
In an age where education is ubiquitous and where we're shifting from being cash rich and time poor, it's interesting to field these questions. I'm so sick of ranting about this because I'm losing my point but my own social prejudices are being questioned and the idea that this is not equality for all is quite demeaning. I'm fortunate enough to have the funds to support myself and this stinky bureaucratic process and yes as a Canadian I feel that I have a certain entitlement to be here, living and working with my British husband however I'm sure there are many, plenty of others who aren't as lucky.
Wednesday 12 November 2008
things I thought about before I could fall asleep
Yesterday, being the first sunny day in London in about 5 days, I decided I would venture out to Upper st., to my favourite boutique on the top end. So I did a bit of shopping for the afternoon and met Chris about 6pm for Mucho Mas. So he's really tired at Mucho because he didn't sleep well last night. And I haven't been sleeping well all week because I'm lying next to 'snore face magee' as I like to tell him at 4am when he wakes me up.
I am a very deep sleeper but I promise you no hyperbole, it's like sleeping next to a snoring Dracula. Seriously, at 2.30am last night when I was trying to fall asleep and 'Count Snore Face Magee' was rattling around, I thought if Dracula snored, this is what it would sound like. Imagine Dracula coming for your neck, the sound of drooly, throatal noises he would make, that's my husband, the Count, asleep.
That's just to paint a pretty little picture for you. But you know when you're thinking about stuff during the day and when it comes to bedtime, you sometimes can't get it out of your head? So at Mucho Mas, we were talking about Chris publishing job and him being exceptional at grammar and how the Saw V sign on buses here is grammatically incorrect. And he wanted to pretend to be Daniel Radcliffe (not a far off bet since they look so similar) and call up Lionsgate Studio and pretend that Daniel was interested in doing a slasher film. I reminded him that Daniel would doubtfully be looking for his own projects, that his agent would be, and doubtful at that since I'm sure they come to him. Anyway so I made a comment that a horror film with Daniel Radcliffe could be called 'Harry Slaughter'.
And so it begins, at around 2.30 after trying to fall asleep for nearly an hour and a half, I start thinking of different takes on Harry Potter. This the mental list I devised with genres:
Harry Slaughter- horror
Harry Slutter- porno
Harry Shot Her- film noir
Harry Brought Her? - teen rom com
Harry Not Her- rom com
Harry's Daughter- coming of age
That's all I can remember for now. I think that little game however helped me fall asleep.
I am a very deep sleeper but I promise you no hyperbole, it's like sleeping next to a snoring Dracula. Seriously, at 2.30am last night when I was trying to fall asleep and 'Count Snore Face Magee' was rattling around, I thought if Dracula snored, this is what it would sound like. Imagine Dracula coming for your neck, the sound of drooly, throatal noises he would make, that's my husband, the Count, asleep.
That's just to paint a pretty little picture for you. But you know when you're thinking about stuff during the day and when it comes to bedtime, you sometimes can't get it out of your head? So at Mucho Mas, we were talking about Chris publishing job and him being exceptional at grammar and how the Saw V sign on buses here is grammatically incorrect. And he wanted to pretend to be Daniel Radcliffe (not a far off bet since they look so similar) and call up Lionsgate Studio and pretend that Daniel was interested in doing a slasher film. I reminded him that Daniel would doubtfully be looking for his own projects, that his agent would be, and doubtful at that since I'm sure they come to him. Anyway so I made a comment that a horror film with Daniel Radcliffe could be called 'Harry Slaughter'.
And so it begins, at around 2.30 after trying to fall asleep for nearly an hour and a half, I start thinking of different takes on Harry Potter. This the mental list I devised with genres:
Harry Slaughter- horror
Harry Slutter- porno
Harry Shot Her- film noir
Harry Brought Her? - teen rom com
Harry Not Her- rom com
Harry's Daughter- coming of age
That's all I can remember for now. I think that little game however helped me fall asleep.
Monday 10 November 2008
quick summary
Here are things that have happened in the past week:
-DYSON! Our flat is spotless. Even still after 5 days. Impressive for us.
-Flash allergy attacks the day the dyson arrived. It was as if it knew I had reach the dust breaking point. I did erupt. I sneezed a
lot.
-Boutique shopping in the west end. I'm becoming fast friends with the girls and boy at Luella.
-Dim Sum on Friday night with Chris. He hesitated to meet me west because he assumed I would drag him shopping. I didn't. I
kept my promise and took him out to dinner. We over-ordered and ate way too much. I had to be rolled home.
-Late that night we watched the Orphanage. It scared the wits out of both of us. I wish I understood Spanish because when
shielding my face with a pillow, I couldn't read the subtitles. That night, whenever either of us had to go to the toilet, the other
had to wait outside. It's that scary.
-Saturday was house party with friends. I was told that I was the first married person somenoe had met at a house party. I don't
know if that was mildly insulting or not. Then some guy locked me in his bedroom. But my friend banged on the door and he
obliged and opened it. I stuck to the people that I knew after that. And realised that even being married, I can still get people's
numbers. Even if those people are girls and we want to be friends. Double dates a go-go.
Yesterday/Today. It won't stop raining in London. There is a sample sale at Reiss that I want to go to. I am afraid that if I go outside, I'll melt. I do have Pippa's umbrella which I may use (sorry and thanks Pippa at the same time, I know that you're close to Dotty). However it does look torrential out there.
-DYSON! Our flat is spotless. Even still after 5 days. Impressive for us.
-Flash allergy attacks the day the dyson arrived. It was as if it knew I had reach the dust breaking point. I did erupt. I sneezed a
lot.
-Boutique shopping in the west end. I'm becoming fast friends with the girls and boy at Luella.
-Dim Sum on Friday night with Chris. He hesitated to meet me west because he assumed I would drag him shopping. I didn't. I
kept my promise and took him out to dinner. We over-ordered and ate way too much. I had to be rolled home.
-Late that night we watched the Orphanage. It scared the wits out of both of us. I wish I understood Spanish because when
shielding my face with a pillow, I couldn't read the subtitles. That night, whenever either of us had to go to the toilet, the other
had to wait outside. It's that scary.
-Saturday was house party with friends. I was told that I was the first married person somenoe had met at a house party. I don't
know if that was mildly insulting or not. Then some guy locked me in his bedroom. But my friend banged on the door and he
obliged and opened it. I stuck to the people that I knew after that. And realised that even being married, I can still get people's
numbers. Even if those people are girls and we want to be friends. Double dates a go-go.
Yesterday/Today. It won't stop raining in London. There is a sample sale at Reiss that I want to go to. I am afraid that if I go outside, I'll melt. I do have Pippa's umbrella which I may use (sorry and thanks Pippa at the same time, I know that you're close to Dotty). However it does look torrential out there.
Tuesday 4 November 2008
D Day
Last night I get a phone call from our friend Siddh who is hyper political, hilarious and tricked me into admitting something I hadn't even done. The reason he phoned was so we could watch the American election over at his flat. Apparently some other friends are going to be there as well. I love how this has turned into a sporting event. You can bet that I'm going to bring chips. And yes, whilst history is being made (fingers crossed!!!) I can't help but feel that tomorrow, my D Day is much more important than America's 'Decision Day'.
Wednesday, or Dyson Day as I'd like to call it from now on, will be glorious. I ordered a Dyson from Comet, top of the line, with the pivot ball. On Sunday, Chris and I went to Ikea and bought a few wardrobes and another book case along with loads of frames and vases and stuff so I have been doing my wifely duty of reorganising the flat whilst Chris puts things together (fuck you, you fucking fuck is what I hear coming from the other room at night now. It's hilarious!). Come tomorrow, our house will be allergen free, dust free, so clean, I'm so happy! This is bad though. Chris is now working full time while I stay at home and tend to the cleaning. But at least I'm making my own choice of being excited for a vacuum cleaner. I think that Chris is a bit more excited about the election. And this is why we work so well together.
Wednesday, or Dyson Day as I'd like to call it from now on, will be glorious. I ordered a Dyson from Comet, top of the line, with the pivot ball. On Sunday, Chris and I went to Ikea and bought a few wardrobes and another book case along with loads of frames and vases and stuff so I have been doing my wifely duty of reorganising the flat whilst Chris puts things together (fuck you, you fucking fuck is what I hear coming from the other room at night now. It's hilarious!). Come tomorrow, our house will be allergen free, dust free, so clean, I'm so happy! This is bad though. Chris is now working full time while I stay at home and tend to the cleaning. But at least I'm making my own choice of being excited for a vacuum cleaner. I think that Chris is a bit more excited about the election. And this is why we work so well together.
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