So I should probably delete the post a while back regaling my personal whinge self-doubt misdemeanors but I won't for nostalgia's sake. Plus I would never want to get to big for my boots. Basically I'm back on track for 2010 with proof that nothing does actually come easy, even if you're horoscope has said so for the past 14 months.
And with that, Chris is doing amazingly as well, with a promotion, a raise, two rounds of tequila shots at the Christmas party.
So when I received my news last Monday, I phoned Chris up and said I got the job and we both simultaneously said 2010.
One massive boo boo however was Christmas where I buggered up his gift so badly. Evidently headphones are tricky to find in Birmingham on 23rd December so tomorrow I'm venturing out to purchase the second half of his present. He's currently enjoying the first which is F1 for the Wii (clearly not my top choice).
And what did Christmas consist of this year in Birmingham? Cheese binge and drinking wine as if it was water. Our neighbour came and dropped off a bottle of red as a thank you for letting him use our wireless and honestly the sight of that bottle is making me feel nauseous. The past years running we were keen on Dolphin Olympics, the internet game but no we're shit so we started playing Bust a Move- and we're equally as rubbish at that now. But yes, that has been the past week. We got back to London tonight and I requested raw vegetables for supper. This is the first time I've felt hungry in the past 2-3 weeks. New years, different story I'm sure.
2010.
Tuesday 29 December 2009
Friday 18 December 2009
Snippets
I'm now under the strict advocation of job interviews including a two drink minimum. This will in future prevent me from floating out of my body, staring down at myself, listening to myself, thinking to myself to just stop talking. Loquacious yes but not such a formidable quality evidently. Ummm, we shall see.
Last night I had a dream that I only remembered once on the bus ride home today. I dreamt I was playing poker and my opponents were trying to figure out my tell only I had never had to bluff therefore did not have one. I was prompted by this because of my emotional tells, I'm clearly becoming worse and worse disguising these in public. Stoicism hasn't been my strong suit this 2009. I blame age.
My manager at work last night however dreamt about scissors. And today, when someone's scissors went missing from their desk, she opened her top drawer saying, 'oh I took those yesterday'. Realised that they weren't in her top drawer. Then realised it was all just a dream.
Work. Dreams. Scissors. Call me mildly pessimistic but that sounds about right.
Last night I had a dream that I only remembered once on the bus ride home today. I dreamt I was playing poker and my opponents were trying to figure out my tell only I had never had to bluff therefore did not have one. I was prompted by this because of my emotional tells, I'm clearly becoming worse and worse disguising these in public. Stoicism hasn't been my strong suit this 2009. I blame age.
My manager at work last night however dreamt about scissors. And today, when someone's scissors went missing from their desk, she opened her top drawer saying, 'oh I took those yesterday'. Realised that they weren't in her top drawer. Then realised it was all just a dream.
Work. Dreams. Scissors. Call me mildly pessimistic but that sounds about right.
Thursday 17 December 2009
hectic humbug
Cold winds travelled from Russia are now drowning this city in London. Ordinarily I would mildly disturbed by this because London has a nonexistent coping mechanism for snow removal and frankly it's intolerably cold outside. Also, I need tomorrow to be as stress free going into work as possible.
Yesterday was my 25th birthday- jovial. I managed to keep it on the DL at work quite well, team were very lovely as usual and we went out for a nice lunch, and then was office Christmas party that by previous standards set, was quite tame. No embarrassment, even after singing You're So Vain on karaoke which evidently was my best performance to date.
And with all these happenings in the diary, December has been insane. Christmas dinner and drinks with all of our friends last year which was wonderful. Sunday spent watching Christmas films- season always starts off with Home Alone, then Elf was on television etc. etc. I think this weekend we're going to watch Die Hard and Gremlins. Love Actually when it's on tv at Chris' parents.
Jam packed social schedule but nothing actually provoking to say. I'm tucked under a blanket enjoying the heat from the computer on my lap, looking through cookbooks, listening to songs as I'm still putting together my best of the past decade. Kind of don't want to limit it just to music; would love to do books, movies blahbidyblah.
Also just realised that I need to Christmas shop tomorrow and in the snow will just not do. Yarg.
Yesterday was my 25th birthday- jovial. I managed to keep it on the DL at work quite well, team were very lovely as usual and we went out for a nice lunch, and then was office Christmas party that by previous standards set, was quite tame. No embarrassment, even after singing You're So Vain on karaoke which evidently was my best performance to date.
And with all these happenings in the diary, December has been insane. Christmas dinner and drinks with all of our friends last year which was wonderful. Sunday spent watching Christmas films- season always starts off with Home Alone, then Elf was on television etc. etc. I think this weekend we're going to watch Die Hard and Gremlins. Love Actually when it's on tv at Chris' parents.
Jam packed social schedule but nothing actually provoking to say. I'm tucked under a blanket enjoying the heat from the computer on my lap, looking through cookbooks, listening to songs as I'm still putting together my best of the past decade. Kind of don't want to limit it just to music; would love to do books, movies blahbidyblah.
Also just realised that I need to Christmas shop tomorrow and in the snow will just not do. Yarg.
Sunday 29 November 2009
100 2000
During last night's damp evening out, I was given a really good project by my friend Jonas. He wants me to create a list of the top 100 songs from the Noughties. Now of course this carries quite a bit of personal gravity because I think it's really tricky as there are different impacts one needs to assess before delivering (social, cultural and personal impacts). I think the most important thing is that the Noughties is our formative years where music became extremely important. And of course I truly believe that music is transcendental so it's difficult for me to not place a huge importance on personal choice.
And of course culturally the western world changed post 9/11. So that is going to affect my decision making as well. Essentially I need to flesh out a list of let's say 300 songs then narrow them down. And I'll definitely indicate which ones are on there for personal reasons and which ones are on there because they're just really good.
Ok this is really boring. But I do love a project. And it's gross to think that in just over a month it will be 2010. Yeah, don't like that.
And of course culturally the western world changed post 9/11. So that is going to affect my decision making as well. Essentially I need to flesh out a list of let's say 300 songs then narrow them down. And I'll definitely indicate which ones are on there for personal reasons and which ones are on there because they're just really good.
Ok this is really boring. But I do love a project. And it's gross to think that in just over a month it will be 2010. Yeah, don't like that.
Friday 13 November 2009
bit more fun
So postmouse, we became shells of our former selves allowing our flat to become a den of filth. That is not like us. It had been three + until we finally did our massive big clean. That was Monday night.
The time change, even though it took place weeks ago now is killing me. It gets dark here at 4.00pm. By the time I get home at 6.00pm I feel like it should be 9pm and I can't be bothered to do anything else but watch the Wire, fall asleep 45 minutes into it and go to bed. So I took a long weekend. So far it's consisted of sleeping for 11 hours and reading countless blogs that I have missed over the past two weeks. Thanks friends.
A few weekends back now, Branson and I celebrated our one year anniversary with martinis and steak. It pains me sometimes that everyone else around us had these huge expectations of what we should do when we're really just exceptionally low key. On the plus as well, staying local means that we don't have to pay for taxis because I'm wearing extravagant shoes. Martinis at the bar down the road, then steak a bit closer to home. Chris' steak was the size of a newborn, that is not an exaggeration. 11oz of lies, that baby was at least 20. But nothing says love like ravaging flesh.
Tonight we're going to see Louis CK. I am very much looking forward to this as we've had tickets for over a month now. And we've watched his two HBO specials at least 6 times since.
The time change, even though it took place weeks ago now is killing me. It gets dark here at 4.00pm. By the time I get home at 6.00pm I feel like it should be 9pm and I can't be bothered to do anything else but watch the Wire, fall asleep 45 minutes into it and go to bed. So I took a long weekend. So far it's consisted of sleeping for 11 hours and reading countless blogs that I have missed over the past two weeks. Thanks friends.
A few weekends back now, Branson and I celebrated our one year anniversary with martinis and steak. It pains me sometimes that everyone else around us had these huge expectations of what we should do when we're really just exceptionally low key. On the plus as well, staying local means that we don't have to pay for taxis because I'm wearing extravagant shoes. Martinis at the bar down the road, then steak a bit closer to home. Chris' steak was the size of a newborn, that is not an exaggeration. 11oz of lies, that baby was at least 20. But nothing says love like ravaging flesh.
Tonight we're going to see Louis CK. I am very much looking forward to this as we've had tickets for over a month now. And we've watched his two HBO specials at least 6 times since.
Thursday 15 October 2009
fun at first but then it gets a bit sad
That seems to be the general gist of all facets of everything. Minus the blip last week where I wanted to sit on mr. grumps Branson until he agreed to be a nice boy again. He had a staycation and evidently didn't enjoy his own company. Force to be reckoned with considering we never really argue, I could have bitch slapped him last Friday. But I was mature and stuff and told him to start being nice. He was in a fine enough mood by Saturday, and he bought me flowers on Sunday which was all very lovely.
One unfun thing happened which was mouse murder. We've had the little blighter in our lives for quite a few weeks, and he only pops out if it's perfectly silent, or if I'm on the sofa, minding my own business and he feels like scaring the shit out of me. Finally it was an 'us or him' situation; breaking point. Whilst trying to watch the Wire, mousey came squirming out of his gap under the stove and darted behind our sofa (which up until that moment, we hadn't realised he was running behind there). Chris thought he had trapped him against the back wall of the flat using our sofa, side table and chair as blocades. I was essentially marooned on the sofa for fear of mousey shooting up my leg. Tricky bastard however shoved himself into a a crack between our baseboard and wall and took off (after about an hour of Chris, mop in hand fiddling around, basically I just wanted to watch the Wire). Then the little shit was seen zipping through our kitchen on the countertop which is clearly disgusting. Chris speeds over trapping him with bottles of olive oil and cereal boxes. And because this mousey has evading our sticky traps and poison baits, Chris thought it would be genius to have one escape route from this makeshift kitchen fortress and force him onto one, however this is the smartest mouse in all of London; mice have obviously evolved here quickly since the Industrial Revolution and can easily outwit two chumps such as us. So he figures out there's a nonstick strip on the trap and runs up that and behind the sofa again, except this time, this time we've blocked off the crack with newspaper and there's no escape for our bright young thing. Chris has now gone primal, wearing rubber gloves, running around, saying 'little shithead' over and over and over again. Then drops a sticky trap down along our back wall until finally, after I have now been sitting panicked on the sofa for over an hour hear the horrid squeals of success. Poor mousey finally stuck and got his poor little legs all twisted.
He kept squeaking until Chris put a tupperware container over him and he found solace in the dark. I'm now crying because it's terrible and heartbreaking and I leave mr grumps to do the dirty work whilst I literally go in the bedroom and hide under the covers. Now if you'd like to hear the rest of the story I can tell it but it's terribly inhumane and Chris and I have been emailing back and forth how disgusted we feel with ourselves and the guilt that's churning in our stomachs. But I must remind you that this was psychological warfare. This mouse hadn't eaten any poison (even with bits of chocolate dumped in it, which by the way, we found pieces of under our sofa), avoiding sticky traps that were set up by his favourite running points. And he managed to avoid Chris' trappings twice in one evening.
So that's not fun at all. But we're doing a massively flat blitz on Saturday which is of course, always fun.
One unfun thing happened which was mouse murder. We've had the little blighter in our lives for quite a few weeks, and he only pops out if it's perfectly silent, or if I'm on the sofa, minding my own business and he feels like scaring the shit out of me. Finally it was an 'us or him' situation; breaking point. Whilst trying to watch the Wire, mousey came squirming out of his gap under the stove and darted behind our sofa (which up until that moment, we hadn't realised he was running behind there). Chris thought he had trapped him against the back wall of the flat using our sofa, side table and chair as blocades. I was essentially marooned on the sofa for fear of mousey shooting up my leg. Tricky bastard however shoved himself into a a crack between our baseboard and wall and took off (after about an hour of Chris, mop in hand fiddling around, basically I just wanted to watch the Wire). Then the little shit was seen zipping through our kitchen on the countertop which is clearly disgusting. Chris speeds over trapping him with bottles of olive oil and cereal boxes. And because this mousey has evading our sticky traps and poison baits, Chris thought it would be genius to have one escape route from this makeshift kitchen fortress and force him onto one, however this is the smartest mouse in all of London; mice have obviously evolved here quickly since the Industrial Revolution and can easily outwit two chumps such as us. So he figures out there's a nonstick strip on the trap and runs up that and behind the sofa again, except this time, this time we've blocked off the crack with newspaper and there's no escape for our bright young thing. Chris has now gone primal, wearing rubber gloves, running around, saying 'little shithead' over and over and over again. Then drops a sticky trap down along our back wall until finally, after I have now been sitting panicked on the sofa for over an hour hear the horrid squeals of success. Poor mousey finally stuck and got his poor little legs all twisted.
He kept squeaking until Chris put a tupperware container over him and he found solace in the dark. I'm now crying because it's terrible and heartbreaking and I leave mr grumps to do the dirty work whilst I literally go in the bedroom and hide under the covers. Now if you'd like to hear the rest of the story I can tell it but it's terribly inhumane and Chris and I have been emailing back and forth how disgusted we feel with ourselves and the guilt that's churning in our stomachs. But I must remind you that this was psychological warfare. This mouse hadn't eaten any poison (even with bits of chocolate dumped in it, which by the way, we found pieces of under our sofa), avoiding sticky traps that were set up by his favourite running points. And he managed to avoid Chris' trappings twice in one evening.
So that's not fun at all. But we're doing a massively flat blitz on Saturday which is of course, always fun.
Tuesday 6 October 2009
plaits
Having a lovely evening to myself, but I'm not entirely sure what I should do with myself. So I impulse purchased on purpose a mini bottle of red and taught myself how to fishtail braid. Silly evening alone. Count Christopher went back to B'ham during his staycation to see his parents and grandfather leaving to my own devices i.e. cooking frozen meat and watching Gossip Girl. I sometimes wish my life was a modicum more interesting but it isn't without its charms; later this evening I'm going to plan my power outfit for big pharmacy industry meeting I have on Friday. Again it's conceptually lame. I should probably watch a movie.
But it's plain to see that I'm bridging being adult and being bored quite nicely. I think the threshold is girliness. Yes. I am wearing lipstick right now and typing apple sauce. I should knit or crochet or polish Chris' work shoes perhaps. If modern woman is glass of wine, slouch, man's sweater (yes, wearing a boy sweater I bought myself, not stolen from CB), listening to Stone Roses on a Tuesday, we're entertaining sad world. Not that I'm the absolute depiction of modern woman; I think now just boredom.
My hair looks very nice though.
But it's plain to see that I'm bridging being adult and being bored quite nicely. I think the threshold is girliness. Yes. I am wearing lipstick right now and typing apple sauce. I should knit or crochet or polish Chris' work shoes perhaps. If modern woman is glass of wine, slouch, man's sweater (yes, wearing a boy sweater I bought myself, not stolen from CB), listening to Stone Roses on a Tuesday, we're entertaining sad world. Not that I'm the absolute depiction of modern woman; I think now just boredom.
My hair looks very nice though.
Friday 25 September 2009
cherie
So what I'm lazy in September? My dad came to visit; my in-laws came to visit. Chris & co. did a dj night at Koko. Umm...that's pretty much it. I finally finished 100 Years of Solitude but I have a feeling that was at the beginning of August. Oh yes, they're all blending nicely together now.
Saturday 29 August 2009
bricks
I went to a house party last week that was fun but a bit filled with mean people. I referred to the kitchen as the 'bitchen'- insert obvious reasons. I find it shocking that people go to house parties only to create the same atmosphere of an exceptionally pretentious bar. I managed to find salvation in my friends bedroom where we discussed children's shows. And this is what I learned:
Friday 21 August 2009
medium
I received a lovely email from my friend Pippa last night during the euphoric state I was in after seeing Animal Collective. She commented that I've been rather m.i.a. from the internet. This email was sent via her new iphone. Fair enough my friend!
It's hugely in part to the fact that London has actually had amazing weather the past few weeks. Yes, the occasional monsoon has fallen at night but during the day it's been warm, sunny and lovely. A horror of horrors, my legs have some semblance of a tan. I type this as a large rain cloud looms over London Fields where I was hoping to lay down and read a book on my day off. Might have to wait it out. These past few weeks haven't been particularly turbulent rather radically fun. Just blame it on the weather. This week, Chris and I took our leftover pizza, freshly made salad and went to sit in the park with beers. Dreamy Wednesday night, especially when a cricket match was taking place. And I know I keep banging on about this to Chris, and probably to everyone in general, but I love where we live. We've just renewed our contract for the 3rd year, and even though moving is a pain, I simply wouldn't want to. This might be a premature but I doubt we would ever leave this flat until we buy. And our first purchase will definitely be in this area. But that's not a few years now.
It's really wonderful feeling that everything is mostly back on track. Before it felt a bit like dancing on hot coals, not knowing exactly where you can land and for how long.
Ok, I've probably jinxed myself now.
It's hugely in part to the fact that London has actually had amazing weather the past few weeks. Yes, the occasional monsoon has fallen at night but during the day it's been warm, sunny and lovely. A horror of horrors, my legs have some semblance of a tan. I type this as a large rain cloud looms over London Fields where I was hoping to lay down and read a book on my day off. Might have to wait it out. These past few weeks haven't been particularly turbulent rather radically fun. Just blame it on the weather. This week, Chris and I took our leftover pizza, freshly made salad and went to sit in the park with beers. Dreamy Wednesday night, especially when a cricket match was taking place. And I know I keep banging on about this to Chris, and probably to everyone in general, but I love where we live. We've just renewed our contract for the 3rd year, and even though moving is a pain, I simply wouldn't want to. This might be a premature but I doubt we would ever leave this flat until we buy. And our first purchase will definitely be in this area. But that's not a few years now.
It's really wonderful feeling that everything is mostly back on track. Before it felt a bit like dancing on hot coals, not knowing exactly where you can land and for how long.
Ok, I've probably jinxed myself now.
Thursday 6 August 2009
tit
I can't blame a fake nomadic life for having not written anything in weeks, both digitally and hard copy. In fact, it's completely the opposite. Truthfully, I am now settled, withe employment, and haven't done anything remotely self-destructive in weeks. This is an achievement. An old friend from home visited nearly a month ago who sympathised with my situation, which is now to say past situation, which is, really nice to say. But I could see myself reflected in her that I had become a slight nutter. I wasn't nearly morally bankrupt but had become a bit of a social deviant. I'm now feeling myself shift back. Or I guess forward.
The only kink is now I don't know how to end my novel. I am far to smug right now to pull from real life and inject into art.
Here are our sweaty, rainy mugs from a day at a music festival 10 minutes up the canal from us.
The only kink is now I don't know how to end my novel. I am far to smug right now to pull from real life and inject into art.
Here are our sweaty, rainy mugs from a day at a music festival 10 minutes up the canal from us.
Wednesday 8 July 2009
diva
I'm pleased to see we're all intrigued, but all slightly terrified. And speaking off, I made Chris read the post bellow, and he too is a masochistic googler, read up on it and is now afraid to use the toilet. I think he just took three steps backwards from what Tampax was initially trying to achieve. I'm just glad they're innovating for down there, and I would suggest it's most likely women. That's great too.
Honestly, Christopher shuddered. But his reaction wasn't dissimilar to my own. I am an awful girl and I don't want to talk about it. I suppose this is very telling but I am very uncomfortable chatting about that topic. Ooops. See below. No no. Not that below. This bellow.
Honestly, Christopher shuddered. But his reaction wasn't dissimilar to my own. I am an awful girl and I don't want to talk about it. I suppose this is very telling but I am very uncomfortable chatting about that topic. Ooops. See below. No no. Not that below. This bellow.
Monday 6 July 2009
riot gurrrl
monday morning catharsis.
This could possibly be horrific for a boy but not any less horrific than my initial reaction. Because I'm daft and evidently have a traditional vagina.
Morning ritual is reading through all emails, facebook, twitter, blogs, then Guardian. I read virtually every new article on the Guardian everyday (I have now ODed on Michael Jackson and will pass those up). So there was a lovely article on a viral campaign that Tampax is doing where a teenage boy wakes up with a vagina. Poor kid.
So there are some wild tangents I'll be conducting, heading from here to there so try to keep up. I hate the Guardian comments- I think in theory it's a great idea to have a rolling dialogue where the journalist can partake in conversation but practically, people are just too shitty- especially on the internet. I've felt like this for the past year- the internet is now a platform for people to be nasty. Faceless conversations with strangers erupts in some sort of racist fodder (check out YouTube comments for that, it's shocking). I'm just annoyed with people who have no authority exercising their right of speech (fine of course, but because they're faceless, nameless, soulless, it's an excuse to be the worst version of yourself, offering uneducated opinions such as 'why would the Guardian write an article about Twitter at Glastonbury....ummm no one is holding a gun to your inflated head forcing you to read it. That's my biggest pet hate right now, people complaining about content when they're the ones who took the time to read it, and obviously not lured under false pretense, that was the headline: Twitter at Glastonbury). Fuck. I digress.
So yes I hate it. But I am a gross person and evidently a hypocrite because I too read things that evidently I don't want to read but of course must read. I just realised how contradictory that is, but I don't care. Sometimes Guardian comments offer great insights into iced coffee recipes and cheap Euro hostels. But today, post Tampax post, I was reading through and everyone kept commenting on the Mooncup, how the mooncup saved their life, the environmental advantages, the comfort. So my mind had to of course paint a terrified portrait- this article was emphasizing the importance of women discussing their first periods therefore perhaps the attitude of these comments where leaning towards a free love, blessed vagina.
Admittedly, I was scared. But that never stops me from googling things. So I looked this thing up. I don't think I would ever use it myself, but it's wonderful to know that someone has created another option. Hmm...I'm having a difficult time putting this into words. It's like if a tree falls in the woods scenario; or even ignorance is bliss (adamantly disagree). I guess my biggest point is that I'd like to think of myself as a progressive, modern woman of the world but had no idea about silicone cups. Ultimately, you go through life thinking that tampons are your only option and then someone unexpectedly presents you with option B and it's nice, you know?
This probably makes zero sense whatsoever. Which happens from time to time, especially Mondays when I learn something new in a forum which is conducive to pissing me off.
This could possibly be horrific for a boy but not any less horrific than my initial reaction. Because I'm daft and evidently have a traditional vagina.
Morning ritual is reading through all emails, facebook, twitter, blogs, then Guardian. I read virtually every new article on the Guardian everyday (I have now ODed on Michael Jackson and will pass those up). So there was a lovely article on a viral campaign that Tampax is doing where a teenage boy wakes up with a vagina. Poor kid.
So there are some wild tangents I'll be conducting, heading from here to there so try to keep up. I hate the Guardian comments- I think in theory it's a great idea to have a rolling dialogue where the journalist can partake in conversation but practically, people are just too shitty- especially on the internet. I've felt like this for the past year- the internet is now a platform for people to be nasty. Faceless conversations with strangers erupts in some sort of racist fodder (check out YouTube comments for that, it's shocking). I'm just annoyed with people who have no authority exercising their right of speech (fine of course, but because they're faceless, nameless, soulless, it's an excuse to be the worst version of yourself, offering uneducated opinions such as 'why would the Guardian write an article about Twitter at Glastonbury....ummm no one is holding a gun to your inflated head forcing you to read it. That's my biggest pet hate right now, people complaining about content when they're the ones who took the time to read it, and obviously not lured under false pretense, that was the headline: Twitter at Glastonbury). Fuck. I digress.
So yes I hate it. But I am a gross person and evidently a hypocrite because I too read things that evidently I don't want to read but of course must read. I just realised how contradictory that is, but I don't care. Sometimes Guardian comments offer great insights into iced coffee recipes and cheap Euro hostels. But today, post Tampax post, I was reading through and everyone kept commenting on the Mooncup, how the mooncup saved their life, the environmental advantages, the comfort. So my mind had to of course paint a terrified portrait- this article was emphasizing the importance of women discussing their first periods therefore perhaps the attitude of these comments where leaning towards a free love, blessed vagina.
Admittedly, I was scared. But that never stops me from googling things. So I looked this thing up. I don't think I would ever use it myself, but it's wonderful to know that someone has created another option. Hmm...I'm having a difficult time putting this into words. It's like if a tree falls in the woods scenario; or even ignorance is bliss (adamantly disagree). I guess my biggest point is that I'd like to think of myself as a progressive, modern woman of the world but had no idea about silicone cups. Ultimately, you go through life thinking that tampons are your only option and then someone unexpectedly presents you with option B and it's nice, you know?
This probably makes zero sense whatsoever. Which happens from time to time, especially Mondays when I learn something new in a forum which is conducive to pissing me off.
Monday 22 June 2009
liver-pule
I had my quasi step-sister stay with Chris and I last week. I have funny stories from this week passed but I'm just far too tired to type it all out. Eventually I'll get there. Plus I'm extremely inarticulate today which is a massive hinderance when blogging.
One big highlight of the week was travelling north to Liverpool- where they speak silly and the weather is cold. In all seriousness, I had been once before in 2000 but the city has completely been transformed. And there are no 20 somethings there (as far as I could see). There are loads of 16 year olds mind. So strange though come 7pm in the city where there is no traffic whatsoever. Bit disconcerting yes, but a valued change from London pace.
One big highlight of the week was travelling north to Liverpool- where they speak silly and the weather is cold. In all seriousness, I had been once before in 2000 but the city has completely been transformed. And there are no 20 somethings there (as far as I could see). There are loads of 16 year olds mind. So strange though come 7pm in the city where there is no traffic whatsoever. Bit disconcerting yes, but a valued change from London pace.
Wednesday 10 June 2009
i am having a bad week
Yes. It hasn't been off to a fantastic start. I'm sort of reliving hysteric episodes I had when I was 16 and moody. Monday night, I thought I might actually kill Chris from his snoring. I saw myself first ripping out his tongue that suffocating him with a pillow. This was 1.30am. This then prompted me to storm into our livingroom, shuffle for extra blankets and try to sleep in there.
Huge problem. I'm now conditioned to sleep with the sound of a fan. Problem solved. Fan over the oven. That's delightful. It then has this metallic shuffle, like bolts too loose rubbing against each other. Plus it's raining outside and it's hitting the grate on our Juliet balcony. Oh dear. Bloody pressure raising to the point of homicidal acts without thoughts of repercussions. Instead I creep back into the other room and endure the snoring whilst clutching my pillow.
On Sunday I caught myself having a conversation with my dad about Rohypnol. Don't want to get into the whole thing because I promise it's not a huge deal, but I mentioned a story pertaining to me, and realised that I shouldn't take about my experiences with Roofies with my father. And a few days prior we were talking about pot and I mentioned that no one smokes pot here in London really, just snorts lots of cocaine, which prompted concern from my father. Why do I keep talking to him about this shit? I think some red flags have been raised for poor Leo because he's very keen for me to come home for a visit now. I've accidentally open a can of worms. But I suppose on the phone I'm very forthcoming with information.
Last night, still reeling from the fact (sad as it is) that I can't play Sims 3 on our Mac because we don't have Leopard, I fired up my old pc laptop which I haven't used in about a year to play the original game. I don't have patience for systems that were designed to run pre-2006. Tedious but eventually sweetly satisfying (a very long eventual).
But to complete my whingeing, Chris made his amazing salsa last night and I ate half a bag of nachos.
Now to get through Hump Day.
Huge problem. I'm now conditioned to sleep with the sound of a fan. Problem solved. Fan over the oven. That's delightful. It then has this metallic shuffle, like bolts too loose rubbing against each other. Plus it's raining outside and it's hitting the grate on our Juliet balcony. Oh dear. Bloody pressure raising to the point of homicidal acts without thoughts of repercussions. Instead I creep back into the other room and endure the snoring whilst clutching my pillow.
On Sunday I caught myself having a conversation with my dad about Rohypnol. Don't want to get into the whole thing because I promise it's not a huge deal, but I mentioned a story pertaining to me, and realised that I shouldn't take about my experiences with Roofies with my father. And a few days prior we were talking about pot and I mentioned that no one smokes pot here in London really, just snorts lots of cocaine, which prompted concern from my father. Why do I keep talking to him about this shit? I think some red flags have been raised for poor Leo because he's very keen for me to come home for a visit now. I've accidentally open a can of worms. But I suppose on the phone I'm very forthcoming with information.
Last night, still reeling from the fact (sad as it is) that I can't play Sims 3 on our Mac because we don't have Leopard, I fired up my old pc laptop which I haven't used in about a year to play the original game. I don't have patience for systems that were designed to run pre-2006. Tedious but eventually sweetly satisfying (a very long eventual).
But to complete my whingeing, Chris made his amazing salsa last night and I ate half a bag of nachos.
Now to get through Hump Day.
Thursday 4 June 2009
from the past few weeks
When it's sunny in Britain, everyone goes mental. This is an amalgamation of photos since it turned sunny here about 3 weeks ago. Discoboat was right outside our window. It's exciting living on the canal in the summertime. Beach shots are from Wales and illegible handwriting is from my journal, which I was writing whilst weaving through narrow English country roads. Picnic shots from first nice weekend at Regent's Park. Mandatory Nando's during the 14 hour Jonas Birthday Epicolash (I just came up with that now).
Re: Journal Entry. please note: Leominster is a running joke now in the Branson household. His parents thought I was a bit nuts but this time, I furnished them with evidence.
I am glad they let me ride with them on the way home.
Wednesday 27 May 2009
I tried to bake last night
I tried to bake last night. It was not a disaster. But it wasn't that stupendous either. I had a craving for peanut putter cookies and searched recipes online. I chose the wheat free version. The photo looked delicious. My dough was so sticky and Chris suggested another egg. So I added another egg. And it turned out even stickier. So I added more peanut butter. I was skeptical come this point. I started spooning the batter onto a make-shift cookie tray. I watched them bake for the prescribed 10 minutes. They looked like peanut butter meringues not cookies. I poked them at 12 minutes. They were still squishy in the centre. I kept them in for another 10 minutes. Chris was now skeptical at this point. We let them bake for another 10 minutes. They expanded. We accepted that perhaps they possessed inner-beauty.
Chris found them tasty enough. I thought they were an alright first foray into baking. I'm still craving peanut butter cookies with the crisscross on top. The crumbly, chewy kind. There is a positive though. This hankering in my mind is a reminder that I'm not as violently a housewife as I feared I was becoming. This cookie hole is a reminder.
Chris found them tasty enough. I thought they were an alright first foray into baking. I'm still craving peanut butter cookies with the crisscross on top. The crumbly, chewy kind. There is a positive though. This hankering in my mind is a reminder that I'm not as violently a housewife as I feared I was becoming. This cookie hole is a reminder.
Tuesday 19 May 2009
v.low profile
In all honesty, I have been quite tame recently. Mainly, Chris has been working extremely hard and I have been flailing therefore we're not in any position to go nuts. That being said, I'm now, even still, feeling the consequences of 14 hours of white wine on Saturday. Presumably with YouTube videos to come.
It was our friend Jonas' birthday which was boozy pub lunch, then karaoke (I hope our friends are holding mobile phone videos close to their chests, I curse the day they might surface...), then buggering off and doing whatever we pleased, which was in fact continual drinking until 2.30am. We slept at Pippa and Jonas', forcing myself to pass out even without a fan only to wake up at 10am to the worst thing imaginable to wake up after 14 hours of white wine.
La la la la la la la la la. A sliding musical scale. Once up. Once down. Piano accompaniment. Then the beginning of some song from Oliver. Repeat. Repeat this entire process for 2 hours. One thing if that woman was playing a proper song, oh but she wasn't. She was la la-ing, and I couldn't figure out which room it was coming from and commissioned Chris to find her and kill her for my dormant pleasure.
Just realised it could be karmic retribution for singing very, (and boy do I mean very!) poorly in public. And now I've virtually lost my voice. And yesterday, I swear I was trying for the life of me to remember the expression- self-deprecating but couldn't. It's all grossly ironic and inter-textual.
It was our friend Jonas' birthday which was boozy pub lunch, then karaoke (I hope our friends are holding mobile phone videos close to their chests, I curse the day they might surface...), then buggering off and doing whatever we pleased, which was in fact continual drinking until 2.30am. We slept at Pippa and Jonas', forcing myself to pass out even without a fan only to wake up at 10am to the worst thing imaginable to wake up after 14 hours of white wine.
La la la la la la la la la. A sliding musical scale. Once up. Once down. Piano accompaniment. Then the beginning of some song from Oliver. Repeat. Repeat this entire process for 2 hours. One thing if that woman was playing a proper song, oh but she wasn't. She was la la-ing, and I couldn't figure out which room it was coming from and commissioned Chris to find her and kill her for my dormant pleasure.
Just realised it could be karmic retribution for singing very, (and boy do I mean very!) poorly in public. And now I've virtually lost my voice. And yesterday, I swear I was trying for the life of me to remember the expression- self-deprecating but couldn't. It's all grossly ironic and inter-textual.
Monday 11 May 2009
I am afraid of the dark
I think when I'm really stressed, or scared I revert to being childlike. It's irrational and downright silly.
Yesterday, Chris and I spent a splendid day wandering around the flower market, we went out for a late brunch on Columbia road, lazed in the afternoon and I spoke with my mother for 2 hours which was really nice as we had only emailed back and forth for the past few months. Not too indulge too many redundant details but we made this rather delicious salmon pasta with a garlic and onion cream sauce (and by we, Chris made the entire thing whilst I sat entertaining him with jokes...).
About 8pm last night we start watching the film Doomsday by the same guy who did the Decent (his name escapes me now...) and I handled myself rather well because it wasn't really scary at all. Plus I was on good form making jokes throughout (another way to numb my fear now embedding itself). So movie over, a full 2L bottle of Diet Coke half consumed. Next.
Amityville Horror is on television (the original not the remake) which I have seen at least 15 times but haven't watched in the past 5 years lets say. My friend Sharon and I in highschool became really interested in the story and spent an afternoon researching at the library these alleged 'true' events. Theoretically, I shouldn't have been scared at all, but I was so freaked out last night. Branson and I have come to an agreement that if our children ever say they have imaginary friends, they're being given up for adoption, or sent to boarding school, or sent to live with their grandparents in Canada. Basically they're going to stay the fuck away from mummy and daddy.
Then Chris tells me that when he was about 3 years old his mother asked what he was doing one day when he was playing on the floor and she said he was talking to the people in the skirting board. I just glared at him and asked why he had to tell me that. This is information that I am not handling well. Ok so bed time now.
I won't get into our bedroom without him and he still has to brush his teeth. I just stand at the back of our bathroom and watch his routine, my heart is actually racing. We pour into bed, it's now about 12.50am. I'm tossing and turning and can hear my heart beating against the mattress. And I have to take off my pj bottoms because I'm now sweating. And I'm not allowing myself to fall asleep because I know I'll have bad dreams. And Chris doesn't fall asleep because he's afraid he's going to wake up at 3.15am and hear banging (in the movie, the characters keep waking up at that time). Eventually I fall asleep about 3.30am only to wake up 10 minutes later after having a terrifying dream (in my dream, I ask someone for directions and they want me to give them a dollar, then in my dream, but I think I'm awake, I start yelling Honey Honey wake me up and I can feel my body shaking). I then actually do wake up and cling to Chris for dear life. We both then fall asleep only to wake up to 7am alarm and feeling ridiculous.
Chris just called me on his lunch break to say that he was so scared last night too and that his only comfort was me spooning him at 3.30am when he could finally let his mind rest. Funnily enough, during my conversation with my mother yesterday, she was saying there was a growing trend in new build houses where couples are having two master bedrooms built so they can sleep separately. Now I thought that was heinously tacky and not a marriage, to live in separate bedrooms and see each other in communal spaces. I think Chris and I have come to an absolution; never ever will we leave each other's sides whilst sleeping. I don't know how I coped for those 23 years.
I have zillions of stories of being scared, alone, in my room at night. Futhermore, I used to sleep in the basement at my mum's house (that's where the guest bed was built in the mid 90s) but my parents made me move back to my room upstairs when I used to sleep walk and got my self locked into the cellar one night, only to have my parents hear me screaming and having to come rescue me. In all fairness, I probably scared my parents more than I scared myself.
Yesterday, Chris and I spent a splendid day wandering around the flower market, we went out for a late brunch on Columbia road, lazed in the afternoon and I spoke with my mother for 2 hours which was really nice as we had only emailed back and forth for the past few months. Not too indulge too many redundant details but we made this rather delicious salmon pasta with a garlic and onion cream sauce (and by we, Chris made the entire thing whilst I sat entertaining him with jokes...).
About 8pm last night we start watching the film Doomsday by the same guy who did the Decent (his name escapes me now...) and I handled myself rather well because it wasn't really scary at all. Plus I was on good form making jokes throughout (another way to numb my fear now embedding itself). So movie over, a full 2L bottle of Diet Coke half consumed. Next.
Amityville Horror is on television (the original not the remake) which I have seen at least 15 times but haven't watched in the past 5 years lets say. My friend Sharon and I in highschool became really interested in the story and spent an afternoon researching at the library these alleged 'true' events. Theoretically, I shouldn't have been scared at all, but I was so freaked out last night. Branson and I have come to an agreement that if our children ever say they have imaginary friends, they're being given up for adoption, or sent to boarding school, or sent to live with their grandparents in Canada. Basically they're going to stay the fuck away from mummy and daddy.
Then Chris tells me that when he was about 3 years old his mother asked what he was doing one day when he was playing on the floor and she said he was talking to the people in the skirting board. I just glared at him and asked why he had to tell me that. This is information that I am not handling well. Ok so bed time now.
I won't get into our bedroom without him and he still has to brush his teeth. I just stand at the back of our bathroom and watch his routine, my heart is actually racing. We pour into bed, it's now about 12.50am. I'm tossing and turning and can hear my heart beating against the mattress. And I have to take off my pj bottoms because I'm now sweating. And I'm not allowing myself to fall asleep because I know I'll have bad dreams. And Chris doesn't fall asleep because he's afraid he's going to wake up at 3.15am and hear banging (in the movie, the characters keep waking up at that time). Eventually I fall asleep about 3.30am only to wake up 10 minutes later after having a terrifying dream (in my dream, I ask someone for directions and they want me to give them a dollar, then in my dream, but I think I'm awake, I start yelling Honey Honey wake me up and I can feel my body shaking). I then actually do wake up and cling to Chris for dear life. We both then fall asleep only to wake up to 7am alarm and feeling ridiculous.
Chris just called me on his lunch break to say that he was so scared last night too and that his only comfort was me spooning him at 3.30am when he could finally let his mind rest. Funnily enough, during my conversation with my mother yesterday, she was saying there was a growing trend in new build houses where couples are having two master bedrooms built so they can sleep separately. Now I thought that was heinously tacky and not a marriage, to live in separate bedrooms and see each other in communal spaces. I think Chris and I have come to an absolution; never ever will we leave each other's sides whilst sleeping. I don't know how I coped for those 23 years.
I have zillions of stories of being scared, alone, in my room at night. Futhermore, I used to sleep in the basement at my mum's house (that's where the guest bed was built in the mid 90s) but my parents made me move back to my room upstairs when I used to sleep walk and got my self locked into the cellar one night, only to have my parents hear me screaming and having to come rescue me. In all fairness, I probably scared my parents more than I scared myself.
Friday 8 May 2009
happy development
In regards to the whole crying/culture/collision, I think I've just had a breakthrough. As I'm growing further and further more helpless in the traditional employment sense, I have a genius husband who has found the ideal literary agent for me. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't publicise this as who knows what exactly will come to fruition, but it will also press me to keep my June deadline and submit this beast that I've been working on since November.
And I'm obsessed with statistics. For instance, the Word stats they give you on how many edits, how many minutes spent, how many words, paragraphs, even characters. I was calculating that all today (it's just a little form of procrastination I do, you know, to let my words percolate). Apparently I click save every 5 minutes; I have been working on this for over 45 hours. I've been hovering on 22-27,000 words this past month but I've finally found something to move shit along!
Thankfully I have Spotify to get me through these languid afternoons, and with that an entire new repertoire of music which brings me ultimately to the reason I decided to break from writing (ironic...but then again, this is a friendly distraction....with words percolating as I type). I've been listening to classical music for the past 3 days straight, hoping it will help sort out my meanderings from my helpful musings. Partially helpful yes, but the most pleasant thing just happened. I'm listening to Bach and two tears bubbled up and I let myself get slightly carried away by the music. Incredible thus proving further that I am some sort of audio-visual crier (do two tears count as crying?).
I sincerely hope it's the music and not some sort of physiological response to my writing. This process is strangling me, but I respond well to deadlines and I'm now literally sprinting. And crying. Maybe just tearing.
And I'm obsessed with statistics. For instance, the Word stats they give you on how many edits, how many minutes spent, how many words, paragraphs, even characters. I was calculating that all today (it's just a little form of procrastination I do, you know, to let my words percolate). Apparently I click save every 5 minutes; I have been working on this for over 45 hours. I've been hovering on 22-27,000 words this past month but I've finally found something to move shit along!
Thankfully I have Spotify to get me through these languid afternoons, and with that an entire new repertoire of music which brings me ultimately to the reason I decided to break from writing (ironic...but then again, this is a friendly distraction....with words percolating as I type). I've been listening to classical music for the past 3 days straight, hoping it will help sort out my meanderings from my helpful musings. Partially helpful yes, but the most pleasant thing just happened. I'm listening to Bach and two tears bubbled up and I let myself get slightly carried away by the music. Incredible thus proving further that I am some sort of audio-visual crier (do two tears count as crying?).
I sincerely hope it's the music and not some sort of physiological response to my writing. This process is strangling me, but I respond well to deadlines and I'm now literally sprinting. And crying. Maybe just tearing.
Saturday 2 May 2009
I could shower and get ready for a party...
But I'm procrastinating. See below for post on showers/hatred.
1) What author do you own the most books by?
Between Chris and I, it's John Updike- Rabbit Series and a few other of his novels. Also some David Foster Wallace, David Sedaris, loads of Ali Smith and Tom Wolfe.
2) What book do you own the most copies of?
Again, fused together Chris and I both have copies of Dave Eggers Heart Breaking Work of Staggering Genius and Ali Smith's the Accidental.
3) Did it bother you that both those questions ended with prepositions?
No because this isn't formal, it's conversational. Therefore preposition endings are technically allowed.
4) What fictional character are you secretly in love with?
Disappointingly, I can't think of one. But I do tend to sympathise with every lead character in a novel, whether they're a likeable protagonist or not.
5) What book have you read the most times in your life?
I've read Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast twice and probably the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe more than twice, but none others. I think I'm going to reread A Complicated Kindness. I read it for university 3 years ago but because it was in that framework, it seemed more a chore than pleasure although I remember really enjoying it.
6) What was your favorite book when you were ten years old?
I loved the Chronicles of Narnia but also lowbrow stuff like Wayside School.
7) What i s the worst book you’ve read in the past year?
Please don't assume I'm pretentious, but I usually tend to read literary fiction now and for the foreseeable future, however back when I was 16, I read the Pilot's Wife by Anita Shrieve (I think?) and that has to be the worst book I've read in recent history. Still though, it really wasn't that bad...
8 ) What is the best book you’ve read in the past year?
White Teeth by Zadie Smith. It was so beautifully written and the story was so engaging. It was rich but accessible.
9) If you could force everyone you tagged to read one book, what would it be?
Well I know my ladies are already interested in reading Charlotte Roche's Wetlands (from quite a few blogs past). Most already know my opinion on it, and while it decorates the vagina in an enigmatic yet engaging way, I didn't find it graphic, pornographic or raunchy. But yes at parts, I gauged.
10) Who deserves to win the next Nobel Prize for literature?
I think John Updike is a beautiful writer, beit a bit misogynist. He did just die and had an enviable career. He's won the Pulitzer, let's give him the Nobel.
11) What book would you most like to see made into a movie?
J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. He refuses to sell the film rights to the book even though it is still so relevant today and would make an excellent film (which by today's standards are few and far between).
12) What book would you least like to see made into a movie?
A.M Homes Music for Torching. I just finished that this week and whilst it reads like a screenplay, it's good that its only distributed as a novel. If it crossed medias, I'm sure the divorce rate would skyrocket. Either that or make couples uncomfortably introspective. All that being said, it would still be a great movie but it would come with cultural weight.
13) Describe your weirdest dream involving a writer, book, or literary character?
The Road by Cormac McCarthy made me have scary dreams. The words of the book were this incendiary literary landscape, an image that I couldn't shake from my mind before I went sleep (after I had put the book down). Terrifying, but so incredible.
14) What is the most lowbrow book you’ve read as an adult?
I've read a few silly books one being Iris Bahr's Dork/Whore. If you've watched Curb your Enthusiasm, Iris plays the daughter of the orthodox Jew who happens to be the head of the kidney consortium. They get stuck on the ski lift together. Essentially this book was her memoir of traveling through south-east Asia trying to lose her virginity.
15) What is the most difficult book you’ve ever read?
Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses. It's so rich and dense I believe in a very positive way. The religious allegory was tricky to follow and I needed to look a lot of references up and ask my parents. Plus all the controversy surrounding the novel needs to be considered. But I believe it's a long standing testament to the battle of censorship, and this book demonstrates the power of fiction. Rushdie is in my mind the master wordsmith. This book reads as if it's sliding off your tongue, like chocolate cake. Sometimes it's too rich and you need to take a break and digest.
16) What is the most obscure Shakespeare play you’ve seen?
I've seen so much Shakespeare (again not a pretentious admission but I was a Theatre major). I've seen Romeo & Juliet, Hamlet, Love's Labour Lost, Midsummer Night's Dream and have even performed in Othello.
17) Do you prefer the French or the Russians?
I value both for different reasons. I love the French because there is a certain kind of new wave philosophy surrounding all modern French literature, a joie de vivre so to speak which can be enchanting even if there's something disheartening. However the Russians have the whole tragic, love scorn, suicidal, cold, almost gothic implanted throughout. They're a tricky two to compare.
18) Roth or Updike?
John Updike. His descriptions are both poetic and realistic without ever harbouring on cliched.
19) David Sedaris or Dave Eggers?
Tough call. They're such different writers I think as Sedaris writes essays versus Eggers who writes novels and memoir(s). I love Dave Eggers post-modern style, capitalising on every published page in the book and Heart Breaking Work is one of my favourites and Sedaris is so poignant and celebrates these universal truths that in turn become hilarious. I guess they both sort of do that but in very different styles.
20) Shakespeare, Milton, or Chaucer?
Not to get up onto my literary high-horse but I have indeed read and studied all three in depth. I think Chaucer is my favourite as Canterbury Tales is so provocative considering it was written in the middle ages, long before Shakespeare. Plus Chaucer was post-modern centuries before it was even a movement, even a thought process. It's a struggle to read and I had to put on a fake Scottish accent in my mind whilst reading but if you can make the effort, it's really worth it.
21) Austen or Eliot?
I've only read Jane but George seems like she was a righteous babe. She's amongst our classic literary fiction repertoire which I am slowly cracking into. Middlemarch will be read soon.
22) What is the biggest or most embarrassing gap in your reading?
Margaret Atwood. She's female and she's Canadian. I grew up with the pretense set in my mind by my mother that she's a bit of a fuddy-duddy. Then when I was about 15 my mother properly read Handmaid's Tale and then she decided she actually quite enjoyed her. That's a gap I'm longing to fill.
23) What is your favorite novel?
Tough call. I'm looking up at my bookshelf and can't pick out just one.
24) Play?
So many to chose from. Loads of Harold Pinter, Arthur Miller, now I'm drawing a blank but they're out there I'm sure.
25) Poem?
Funnily enough a poem by Margaret Atwood called You Fit into Me. It's very short, here it is:
you fit into me like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye
26) Essay?
Agreeing with Chelsea on David Sedaris. The hilarity certainly ensues. I can't think of a specific example but they're all terribly enjoyable.
27) Short story?
I love Katherine Mansfield's Miss Brill, It's lovely and charming then has a stabbing ending. I also really love Flannery O'Connor's A Good Man is Hard to Find. Again, extremely shocking ending. Honestly, totally out of left field.
28) Work of non-fiction:
Ernest Hemingway's a Moveable Feast. It paints a literary portrait of 1920s bohemian life in Paris, hanging with Gertrude Stein and F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife Zelda (also an acclaimed writer whose husband stole many ideas from her...). They're all ex-pats leaving the dream.
29) Who is your favorite writer?
Very tough decision. Zadie Smith and David Sedaris are certainly both highly up there.
30) Who is the most overrated writer alive today?
Kazuo Ishiguro I guess (did I spell that remotely correctly?). the Remains of the Day. Not that impressed.
31) What is your desert island book?
I'm about to tackle David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest which I'm sure would keep me entertained and engaged.
32) And … what are you reading right now?
I've just started reading Doris Lessing's the Cleft. She won the Nobel prize for this novel. It's sort of reminding me of the Giver, which I had to read in gr. 6. I'm excited to really get stuck in, I've only read 10 pages thus far.
And after that took 45 minutes, I'm not going to shower now.
1) What author do you own the most books by?
Between Chris and I, it's John Updike- Rabbit Series and a few other of his novels. Also some David Foster Wallace, David Sedaris, loads of Ali Smith and Tom Wolfe.
2) What book do you own the most copies of?
Again, fused together Chris and I both have copies of Dave Eggers Heart Breaking Work of Staggering Genius and Ali Smith's the Accidental.
3) Did it bother you that both those questions ended with prepositions?
No because this isn't formal, it's conversational. Therefore preposition endings are technically allowed.
4) What fictional character are you secretly in love with?
Disappointingly, I can't think of one. But I do tend to sympathise with every lead character in a novel, whether they're a likeable protagonist or not.
5) What book have you read the most times in your life?
I've read Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast twice and probably the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe more than twice, but none others. I think I'm going to reread A Complicated Kindness. I read it for university 3 years ago but because it was in that framework, it seemed more a chore than pleasure although I remember really enjoying it.
6) What was your favorite book when you were ten years old?
I loved the Chronicles of Narnia but also lowbrow stuff like Wayside School.
7) What i s the worst book you’ve read in the past year?
Please don't assume I'm pretentious, but I usually tend to read literary fiction now and for the foreseeable future, however back when I was 16, I read the Pilot's Wife by Anita Shrieve (I think?) and that has to be the worst book I've read in recent history. Still though, it really wasn't that bad...
8 ) What is the best book you’ve read in the past year?
White Teeth by Zadie Smith. It was so beautifully written and the story was so engaging. It was rich but accessible.
9) If you could force everyone you tagged to read one book, what would it be?
Well I know my ladies are already interested in reading Charlotte Roche's Wetlands (from quite a few blogs past). Most already know my opinion on it, and while it decorates the vagina in an enigmatic yet engaging way, I didn't find it graphic, pornographic or raunchy. But yes at parts, I gauged.
10) Who deserves to win the next Nobel Prize for literature?
I think John Updike is a beautiful writer, beit a bit misogynist. He did just die and had an enviable career. He's won the Pulitzer, let's give him the Nobel.
11) What book would you most like to see made into a movie?
J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. He refuses to sell the film rights to the book even though it is still so relevant today and would make an excellent film (which by today's standards are few and far between).
12) What book would you least like to see made into a movie?
A.M Homes Music for Torching. I just finished that this week and whilst it reads like a screenplay, it's good that its only distributed as a novel. If it crossed medias, I'm sure the divorce rate would skyrocket. Either that or make couples uncomfortably introspective. All that being said, it would still be a great movie but it would come with cultural weight.
13) Describe your weirdest dream involving a writer, book, or literary character?
The Road by Cormac McCarthy made me have scary dreams. The words of the book were this incendiary literary landscape, an image that I couldn't shake from my mind before I went sleep (after I had put the book down). Terrifying, but so incredible.
14) What is the most lowbrow book you’ve read as an adult?
I've read a few silly books one being Iris Bahr's Dork/Whore. If you've watched Curb your Enthusiasm, Iris plays the daughter of the orthodox Jew who happens to be the head of the kidney consortium. They get stuck on the ski lift together. Essentially this book was her memoir of traveling through south-east Asia trying to lose her virginity.
15) What is the most difficult book you’ve ever read?
Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses. It's so rich and dense I believe in a very positive way. The religious allegory was tricky to follow and I needed to look a lot of references up and ask my parents. Plus all the controversy surrounding the novel needs to be considered. But I believe it's a long standing testament to the battle of censorship, and this book demonstrates the power of fiction. Rushdie is in my mind the master wordsmith. This book reads as if it's sliding off your tongue, like chocolate cake. Sometimes it's too rich and you need to take a break and digest.
16) What is the most obscure Shakespeare play you’ve seen?
I've seen so much Shakespeare (again not a pretentious admission but I was a Theatre major). I've seen Romeo & Juliet, Hamlet, Love's Labour Lost, Midsummer Night's Dream and have even performed in Othello.
17) Do you prefer the French or the Russians?
I value both for different reasons. I love the French because there is a certain kind of new wave philosophy surrounding all modern French literature, a joie de vivre so to speak which can be enchanting even if there's something disheartening. However the Russians have the whole tragic, love scorn, suicidal, cold, almost gothic implanted throughout. They're a tricky two to compare.
18) Roth or Updike?
John Updike. His descriptions are both poetic and realistic without ever harbouring on cliched.
19) David Sedaris or Dave Eggers?
Tough call. They're such different writers I think as Sedaris writes essays versus Eggers who writes novels and memoir(s). I love Dave Eggers post-modern style, capitalising on every published page in the book and Heart Breaking Work is one of my favourites and Sedaris is so poignant and celebrates these universal truths that in turn become hilarious. I guess they both sort of do that but in very different styles.
20) Shakespeare, Milton, or Chaucer?
Not to get up onto my literary high-horse but I have indeed read and studied all three in depth. I think Chaucer is my favourite as Canterbury Tales is so provocative considering it was written in the middle ages, long before Shakespeare. Plus Chaucer was post-modern centuries before it was even a movement, even a thought process. It's a struggle to read and I had to put on a fake Scottish accent in my mind whilst reading but if you can make the effort, it's really worth it.
21) Austen or Eliot?
I've only read Jane but George seems like she was a righteous babe. She's amongst our classic literary fiction repertoire which I am slowly cracking into. Middlemarch will be read soon.
22) What is the biggest or most embarrassing gap in your reading?
Margaret Atwood. She's female and she's Canadian. I grew up with the pretense set in my mind by my mother that she's a bit of a fuddy-duddy. Then when I was about 15 my mother properly read Handmaid's Tale and then she decided she actually quite enjoyed her. That's a gap I'm longing to fill.
23) What is your favorite novel?
Tough call. I'm looking up at my bookshelf and can't pick out just one.
24) Play?
So many to chose from. Loads of Harold Pinter, Arthur Miller, now I'm drawing a blank but they're out there I'm sure.
25) Poem?
Funnily enough a poem by Margaret Atwood called You Fit into Me. It's very short, here it is:
you fit into me like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye
26) Essay?
Agreeing with Chelsea on David Sedaris. The hilarity certainly ensues. I can't think of a specific example but they're all terribly enjoyable.
27) Short story?
I love Katherine Mansfield's Miss Brill, It's lovely and charming then has a stabbing ending. I also really love Flannery O'Connor's A Good Man is Hard to Find. Again, extremely shocking ending. Honestly, totally out of left field.
28) Work of non-fiction:
Ernest Hemingway's a Moveable Feast. It paints a literary portrait of 1920s bohemian life in Paris, hanging with Gertrude Stein and F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife Zelda (also an acclaimed writer whose husband stole many ideas from her...). They're all ex-pats leaving the dream.
29) Who is your favorite writer?
Very tough decision. Zadie Smith and David Sedaris are certainly both highly up there.
30) Who is the most overrated writer alive today?
Kazuo Ishiguro I guess (did I spell that remotely correctly?). the Remains of the Day. Not that impressed.
31) What is your desert island book?
I'm about to tackle David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest which I'm sure would keep me entertained and engaged.
32) And … what are you reading right now?
I've just started reading Doris Lessing's the Cleft. She won the Nobel prize for this novel. It's sort of reminding me of the Giver, which I had to read in gr. 6. I'm excited to really get stuck in, I've only read 10 pages thus far.
And after that took 45 minutes, I'm not going to shower now.
Wednesday 29 April 2009
tears of a clown
Last night I finished A.M Homes Music for Torching which had the most harrowing ending, which lead me to thinking standing up in the kitchen, sipping Diet Coke, taking a break from interview preparation.
Yes, I did get an interview at the company to which I applied using that covering letter that I managed to lose. Which I didn't cry over and couldn't remember the last time I did. Now at this interview, they ask for stories, which I am chop full of but need to think of quick recall, which prompted the whole crying thing yet again.
I don't know if I've even cried yet this year. Oh wait, I did during Marley & Me, but I was more concerned for Chris who was blubbering away (stiff upper lip my ass!). Music for Torching should have definitely prompted crying but it was too tragic, as I explained to Chris last night it's the William H. Macy of novels. But I would highly recommend it because it reads like a screenplay, or piece of theatre and is ominous being set in the present tense. Very eerie.
A book has never made me cry, certainly not as adult. I can't remember any as a child except for 'Where the Red Fern Grows' which my gr. 5 teacher read out loud to the class and even she cried. Evidently anything involving dogs dying prompts some emotional outburst. But seriously, I've read a fair share of depressing novels- John Updike's Rabbit Series (truth be told I've only read the first two but still...) but the only thing it caused was an argument with Chris regarding Rabbit's mistress who I felt the most sorry for and he disagreed. And far be it for me to disagree with a English Lit major from Oxford but still.
But to be fair to my tearless self whilst reading, I don't read books that perhaps touch women. I hate to use the term as it's rather derogatory but I don't read Chick Lit. In fact my taste in literature is rather masculine (stereotypically and/or typically). My favourite writer is Ernest Hemingway who is by far a man's man. I'm staring into our bookshelf for my next read. Petite error is A.M. Homes is a woman but the novel was omniscient therefore male perspectives are given as well as female, therefore I don't feel that it was entirely feminine.
I was going to read Sebasitan Faulks, Engleby next but I think I'll read Doris Lessing, the Cleft, which I think was her nobel prize winning novel. Not that I fear I'm becoming particularly brutish but I need something to pull my heartstrings, or at the very least touch my soul (in some Oprah kind of way, something to penetrate my icy exterior, does that work better?) and have it be something that isn't about a dying dog.
Yes, I did get an interview at the company to which I applied using that covering letter that I managed to lose. Which I didn't cry over and couldn't remember the last time I did. Now at this interview, they ask for stories, which I am chop full of but need to think of quick recall, which prompted the whole crying thing yet again.
I don't know if I've even cried yet this year. Oh wait, I did during Marley & Me, but I was more concerned for Chris who was blubbering away (stiff upper lip my ass!). Music for Torching should have definitely prompted crying but it was too tragic, as I explained to Chris last night it's the William H. Macy of novels. But I would highly recommend it because it reads like a screenplay, or piece of theatre and is ominous being set in the present tense. Very eerie.
A book has never made me cry, certainly not as adult. I can't remember any as a child except for 'Where the Red Fern Grows' which my gr. 5 teacher read out loud to the class and even she cried. Evidently anything involving dogs dying prompts some emotional outburst. But seriously, I've read a fair share of depressing novels- John Updike's Rabbit Series (truth be told I've only read the first two but still...) but the only thing it caused was an argument with Chris regarding Rabbit's mistress who I felt the most sorry for and he disagreed. And far be it for me to disagree with a English Lit major from Oxford but still.
But to be fair to my tearless self whilst reading, I don't read books that perhaps touch women. I hate to use the term as it's rather derogatory but I don't read Chick Lit. In fact my taste in literature is rather masculine (stereotypically and/or typically). My favourite writer is Ernest Hemingway who is by far a man's man. I'm staring into our bookshelf for my next read. Petite error is A.M. Homes is a woman but the novel was omniscient therefore male perspectives are given as well as female, therefore I don't feel that it was entirely feminine.
I was going to read Sebasitan Faulks, Engleby next but I think I'll read Doris Lessing, the Cleft, which I think was her nobel prize winning novel. Not that I fear I'm becoming particularly brutish but I need something to pull my heartstrings, or at the very least touch my soul (in some Oprah kind of way, something to penetrate my icy exterior, does that work better?) and have it be something that isn't about a dying dog.
Friday 24 April 2009
more differences between him and me
So I'm reading A.M. Homes Music for Torching which is really depressing for a newlywed to read. More depressing than referring to yourself as a newlywed. Not that my marriage would ever turn into that pile of mess, not that I would equate my life to a piece of pop literature but still. Anyway I have to a point that I'm slowly driving at.
Last night I had another shocking realisation of our difference. Yes he speaks funny. I've established that a long time ago when he said 'yogurt' for the first time and I couldn't help but laugh at how silly he sounded. And there are lots of words that I get Chris to repeat over and over again: lobster, turtle (when he says that I think my heart is going to explode because it's absolutely adorable. The sound of the word is personified as the cute). But all in all, I can't hear his accent any longer and he can't hear mine. Except when I say silly words and apparently when I talk to my sister on the phone I sound 'really Canadian'. Blah blah blah it doesn't enter our lives on a daily basis.
There are of course the obvious cultural differences but I'm adjusting. I know way too much about Premier league football. So much that I can now have an intelligible conversation. Nightmare realised.
Here's last night shocker. We were watching Katie and Peter: Stateside. I love that we both drop whatever we're doing and pile up on top of each other on the sofa and watch intently. We love them both so much! Chris wants to, and I quote 'shoot the shit' with Peter. But I digress, (they are that wonderful though!). So advert break I start flicking and see Dr. Regan doing this show for BBC2 about medicine, fountain of youth, that kind of stuff versus reality. And she's in a homeopathic shop looking at herbal remedies. Then someone in the shop says (and this is tricky to type out so you may have to say it out loud): 'home-e-op-athy'. It just really startled me as we say 'home-e-o-pathy'. And I thought, maybe that person is just daft and said it wrong and I got Chris to say it and shock/horror he says it the former way.
It's one of those words that you don't hear for about 3 years and don't think it varies depending on where you live, it's just homeopathy, but I was startled. And Chris defended his weird country by saying they shorten the middle of words and lengthen the first syllable. Best example being Controversy: the weirdos here say 'con'trov'o'sy'. At least that's what it sounds like in my head, where I say 'con'tro'ver'sy (you know, as in the way it's spelt...)
I think I've last my train of thought through semantics and syllables but I think our relationship is always going to be on a learning curve. One day he's going to say a word and my head will literally explode because it's too shocking. But it's also refreshing. And maybe that's the essence of people lusting after foreign accents; there's always something fresh to unveil about them, a new word, new phrase, new intonation.
Last night I had another shocking realisation of our difference. Yes he speaks funny. I've established that a long time ago when he said 'yogurt' for the first time and I couldn't help but laugh at how silly he sounded. And there are lots of words that I get Chris to repeat over and over again: lobster, turtle (when he says that I think my heart is going to explode because it's absolutely adorable. The sound of the word is personified as the cute). But all in all, I can't hear his accent any longer and he can't hear mine. Except when I say silly words and apparently when I talk to my sister on the phone I sound 'really Canadian'. Blah blah blah it doesn't enter our lives on a daily basis.
There are of course the obvious cultural differences but I'm adjusting. I know way too much about Premier league football. So much that I can now have an intelligible conversation. Nightmare realised.
Here's last night shocker. We were watching Katie and Peter: Stateside. I love that we both drop whatever we're doing and pile up on top of each other on the sofa and watch intently. We love them both so much! Chris wants to, and I quote 'shoot the shit' with Peter. But I digress, (they are that wonderful though!). So advert break I start flicking and see Dr. Regan doing this show for BBC2 about medicine, fountain of youth, that kind of stuff versus reality. And she's in a homeopathic shop looking at herbal remedies. Then someone in the shop says (and this is tricky to type out so you may have to say it out loud): 'home-e-op-athy'. It just really startled me as we say 'home-e-o-pathy'. And I thought, maybe that person is just daft and said it wrong and I got Chris to say it and shock/horror he says it the former way.
It's one of those words that you don't hear for about 3 years and don't think it varies depending on where you live, it's just homeopathy, but I was startled. And Chris defended his weird country by saying they shorten the middle of words and lengthen the first syllable. Best example being Controversy: the weirdos here say 'con'trov'o'sy'. At least that's what it sounds like in my head, where I say 'con'tro'ver'sy (you know, as in the way it's spelt...)
I think I've last my train of thought through semantics and syllables but I think our relationship is always going to be on a learning curve. One day he's going to say a word and my head will literally explode because it's too shocking. But it's also refreshing. And maybe that's the essence of people lusting after foreign accents; there's always something fresh to unveil about them, a new word, new phrase, new intonation.
Monday 20 April 2009
automatique
My pledge: this week starts some new behaviour!
I've been at odds with myself over the past couple of months. I'm thinking blog isn't the best platform to discuss it because it's insanely self-indulgent but yesterday, Chris and I went to Brick Lane and we couldn't stop judging and thus calling people twats. Be it there are loads of twats that go there, and virtually everyone dresses the same, and don't even get me started on dredlocks right now. But wait, that's deviating from the plan. It was right around Commercial st., where we decided to go the long way round because we couldn't handle walking through the crowds yet again. But there, passing a Banksy, Chris went off how he likes the concept of Banksy, but doesn't think it works with middle class white people buying photographs of his art and hanging it up in their living room. My rebuttal being I'm sure he is very pleased because that means he gets paid. Then Chris and I had our usual Purists conversation blah blah blah. We're now on Shoreditch high st. complaining about the tat that people sell on the sidewalks. And about people meandering and looking around. So we sneak down Bethnal Green road where there are zero people, but there are plenty of potholes.
I finally say that we both need to stop bitching because it's spiraling wildly out of control. Now that's one fundamental thing that has changed about me since I've moved here. I'm not sure if it's Chris, who always uses irony in virtually everything so when he's judging and getting with pissy with people, it's always mildly amusing and done with a certain flair. I mean people used to always piss me off but I was never so vocal, and I can't say that I've ever gone about 4 blocks out of the way to avoid them. Maybe it's just London on Sunday. Maybe this sort of cynicism has always been in my core and is only now bubbling to the surface.
Regardless, I twisted my ankle on a pot hole and really hurt the ball of my foot. That's about when we stopped complaining about people and focused our attention on the new Shoreditch station. It's mid way completed which got us talking about retro-futures and Futurism, being a Totalitarian which lead to other stuff, which was absolutely not whiny, nor ironic, probably not funny either.
Anyway, what is funny is that after all of that, I had a dream last night where I called someone a c-u-n-t face under my breath. Hilarious thing to remember from a dream but this week, I intend to be very open to my surroundings including the idiots that may enter and who may leave. I'm just staying local this week which leaves the chances of people pissing me off are very tiny.
I've been at odds with myself over the past couple of months. I'm thinking blog isn't the best platform to discuss it because it's insanely self-indulgent but yesterday, Chris and I went to Brick Lane and we couldn't stop judging and thus calling people twats. Be it there are loads of twats that go there, and virtually everyone dresses the same, and don't even get me started on dredlocks right now. But wait, that's deviating from the plan. It was right around Commercial st., where we decided to go the long way round because we couldn't handle walking through the crowds yet again. But there, passing a Banksy, Chris went off how he likes the concept of Banksy, but doesn't think it works with middle class white people buying photographs of his art and hanging it up in their living room. My rebuttal being I'm sure he is very pleased because that means he gets paid. Then Chris and I had our usual Purists conversation blah blah blah. We're now on Shoreditch high st. complaining about the tat that people sell on the sidewalks. And about people meandering and looking around. So we sneak down Bethnal Green road where there are zero people, but there are plenty of potholes.
I finally say that we both need to stop bitching because it's spiraling wildly out of control. Now that's one fundamental thing that has changed about me since I've moved here. I'm not sure if it's Chris, who always uses irony in virtually everything so when he's judging and getting with pissy with people, it's always mildly amusing and done with a certain flair. I mean people used to always piss me off but I was never so vocal, and I can't say that I've ever gone about 4 blocks out of the way to avoid them. Maybe it's just London on Sunday. Maybe this sort of cynicism has always been in my core and is only now bubbling to the surface.
Regardless, I twisted my ankle on a pot hole and really hurt the ball of my foot. That's about when we stopped complaining about people and focused our attention on the new Shoreditch station. It's mid way completed which got us talking about retro-futures and Futurism, being a Totalitarian which lead to other stuff, which was absolutely not whiny, nor ironic, probably not funny either.
Anyway, what is funny is that after all of that, I had a dream last night where I called someone a c-u-n-t face under my breath. Hilarious thing to remember from a dream but this week, I intend to be very open to my surroundings including the idiots that may enter and who may leave. I'm just staying local this week which leaves the chances of people pissing me off are very tiny.
Tuesday 14 April 2009
fail
I wasn't going to bring this up but I'm bored because my husband is watching Champions League football and there is no other escape for me right now.
And even though my Macbook and I are in a colossal fight, I need a mini-vent. But I did just catch myself making a Jew joke about a Liverpool player who's from Israel, who is also I'm sure observing Passover and therefore not eating anything leavened. I joked that he needs to put a little yeast on the ball. Dear Lord. What am I turning into?
It's all one big defense mechanism. Today for the first time in a long time, I lost something. I had written this amazing covering letter, but in a difficult/I guess creative format and I was using this online java editor thingy and when I had first started writing it keep going to the page back instead of deleting (backspace...grr!) so Chris suggested I work offline in a web archive thingy that you can do with Safari (I'll bet you can do it on a PC as well). I hate technology right now, which is of course ironic because I'm both typing and involving myself in the blogosphere. But I'm also critiquing it's shittiness.
So there I am, contented and actually volunteering to go out and buy our daily bottle of Diet Coke, bounce in my step, the first time so insanely pleased with myself professionally. The job market in London is colder than a witch's teet right now. Lots has been brewing with me under the surface of this blog and finally something definitively came through and after 4 hours of sweat, laughter, genuine disbelief that I could write so many positive things about myself in a witty, delightful, playfully genuine way, conveying passion, creativity, intelligence, even open-mindedness, it all was deleted by one hit of the backspace button.
I kept hitting 'save as' then typed something else, hit backspace button, which ultimately took me to the blank page before, Then hit 'save as' without realising, work gone. Searched the entire computer, searched the web archives, searched page history. Called Chris, see if he knows how to find replaced documents. Doesn't. Search Mac forums which all state you need this program that already needed to be uploaded onto your computer.
Now here's the thing: I know I'm not the first person this has happened to, and I highly doubt that I'm the last so why isn't there some universal program that's already on everyone's computer that will save them from having a meltdown (I'm referring to the human beings here and not the machinery)?
After I pulled myself together, (I surprised myself by not crying, but saying the word fuck over and over again. Have I matured or what? I'm probably now incapable of crying out of frustration. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I cried, but that's neither here nor there) I started hand-writing everything that I had just typed. I like surprising myself with my photographic memory, and overall aptitude for remembering things I've written word for word (sometimes things I've said as well). And one thing I did say as I was bopping around outside, too big for my boots: "What I am writing is so great, it's so clever. I never say this about myself but it's really great!". Those words actually left my lips, and probably with further hyperbole. Serves me right I guess. I think I'm hitting my threshold on professional pain however. Tomorrow, I'll retype this stupid jerk out and send it over, and I swear to all that is allegedly holy, I better at least get a second interview (went for a chat last week). Yarg.
But I'm calm. I have collected myself. So it was just half-time and we switched over to Gok's Fashion Fix. One of his little projects was this woman trying on a houndstooth dress. Chris turned to me and said, 'that's houndstooth right?' and I replied yes. He said that he learned that from Windows '95, where Houndstooth was an option for a desktop background.
Computers. They have just redeemed themselves. Bastards.
And even though my Macbook and I are in a colossal fight, I need a mini-vent. But I did just catch myself making a Jew joke about a Liverpool player who's from Israel, who is also I'm sure observing Passover and therefore not eating anything leavened. I joked that he needs to put a little yeast on the ball. Dear Lord. What am I turning into?
It's all one big defense mechanism. Today for the first time in a long time, I lost something. I had written this amazing covering letter, but in a difficult/I guess creative format and I was using this online java editor thingy and when I had first started writing it keep going to the page back instead of deleting (backspace...grr!) so Chris suggested I work offline in a web archive thingy that you can do with Safari (I'll bet you can do it on a PC as well). I hate technology right now, which is of course ironic because I'm both typing and involving myself in the blogosphere. But I'm also critiquing it's shittiness.
So there I am, contented and actually volunteering to go out and buy our daily bottle of Diet Coke, bounce in my step, the first time so insanely pleased with myself professionally. The job market in London is colder than a witch's teet right now. Lots has been brewing with me under the surface of this blog and finally something definitively came through and after 4 hours of sweat, laughter, genuine disbelief that I could write so many positive things about myself in a witty, delightful, playfully genuine way, conveying passion, creativity, intelligence, even open-mindedness, it all was deleted by one hit of the backspace button.
I kept hitting 'save as' then typed something else, hit backspace button, which ultimately took me to the blank page before, Then hit 'save as' without realising, work gone. Searched the entire computer, searched the web archives, searched page history. Called Chris, see if he knows how to find replaced documents. Doesn't. Search Mac forums which all state you need this program that already needed to be uploaded onto your computer.
Now here's the thing: I know I'm not the first person this has happened to, and I highly doubt that I'm the last so why isn't there some universal program that's already on everyone's computer that will save them from having a meltdown (I'm referring to the human beings here and not the machinery)?
After I pulled myself together, (I surprised myself by not crying, but saying the word fuck over and over again. Have I matured or what? I'm probably now incapable of crying out of frustration. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I cried, but that's neither here nor there) I started hand-writing everything that I had just typed. I like surprising myself with my photographic memory, and overall aptitude for remembering things I've written word for word (sometimes things I've said as well). And one thing I did say as I was bopping around outside, too big for my boots: "What I am writing is so great, it's so clever. I never say this about myself but it's really great!". Those words actually left my lips, and probably with further hyperbole. Serves me right I guess. I think I'm hitting my threshold on professional pain however. Tomorrow, I'll retype this stupid jerk out and send it over, and I swear to all that is allegedly holy, I better at least get a second interview (went for a chat last week). Yarg.
But I'm calm. I have collected myself. So it was just half-time and we switched over to Gok's Fashion Fix. One of his little projects was this woman trying on a houndstooth dress. Chris turned to me and said, 'that's houndstooth right?' and I replied yes. He said that he learned that from Windows '95, where Houndstooth was an option for a desktop background.
Computers. They have just redeemed themselves. Bastards.
Monday 13 April 2009
water
Do you ever get the feeling where you're so unimpressed with yourself for getting to the extent of laziness that you're currently squalorring in, however it just feels so good?
I can't begin to describe the matt of hair that's formed on my head. And how I've worn this t shirt for the past 2 1/2 days, (both asleep and awake). And I'm wrapped up in my blanket on the sofa and still debating shower vs. filth. In my defense, I don't smell. I've never been a smelly person. And the reason that I know this is because I don't have a sense of smell really...but please let me finish. Therefore the real reason I know is because I used to get my mother to smell me before I went to school, just to make sure. And my dwindling paranoia has been reconfirmed by boyfriends past, reinstating what I already know; I'm not smelly.
What I am is lazy. I don't know if it's free time, teenage angst revenge, boredom or maybe it's just Europe, but lately showering has become tedious. I'm an everyday shower kind of girl (evidence to the contrary above but I swear to you I do), but I'm starting to resent it. Ultimately I know it's just my long hair, that I've officially quit brushing, quit blow drying and just let curl and look tusseled. So my day now has to revolve around showering, then another 45 minutes that my hair needs to be wrapped in a terri-cloth turban, then another hour for it to be loose, air drying.
I'm also one of those bratty people who has a pool at my parents house and whenever friends came over who wanted to swim, I would insist on not. I just hate being dry, getting wet, drying off again. Which brings up a funny story that may only be so to Chris. I was watching the Little Mermaid a few months ago whilst Chris was idly listening/reading the paper. I asked him if he would like to live under the sea which prompted zero response except laughter as I sat debating to myself whether I would like or not. Ultimately I chose not because I would be wet all the time and my hair would get stringy.
I just peered out the window. I think this turned into some sort of subconscious reaction to the weather. It's tipping it down with rain.
I can't begin to describe the matt of hair that's formed on my head. And how I've worn this t shirt for the past 2 1/2 days, (both asleep and awake). And I'm wrapped up in my blanket on the sofa and still debating shower vs. filth. In my defense, I don't smell. I've never been a smelly person. And the reason that I know this is because I don't have a sense of smell really...but please let me finish. Therefore the real reason I know is because I used to get my mother to smell me before I went to school, just to make sure. And my dwindling paranoia has been reconfirmed by boyfriends past, reinstating what I already know; I'm not smelly.
What I am is lazy. I don't know if it's free time, teenage angst revenge, boredom or maybe it's just Europe, but lately showering has become tedious. I'm an everyday shower kind of girl (evidence to the contrary above but I swear to you I do), but I'm starting to resent it. Ultimately I know it's just my long hair, that I've officially quit brushing, quit blow drying and just let curl and look tusseled. So my day now has to revolve around showering, then another 45 minutes that my hair needs to be wrapped in a terri-cloth turban, then another hour for it to be loose, air drying.
I'm also one of those bratty people who has a pool at my parents house and whenever friends came over who wanted to swim, I would insist on not. I just hate being dry, getting wet, drying off again. Which brings up a funny story that may only be so to Chris. I was watching the Little Mermaid a few months ago whilst Chris was idly listening/reading the paper. I asked him if he would like to live under the sea which prompted zero response except laughter as I sat debating to myself whether I would like or not. Ultimately I chose not because I would be wet all the time and my hair would get stringy.
I just peered out the window. I think this turned into some sort of subconscious reaction to the weather. It's tipping it down with rain.
Monday 6 April 2009
I'm pausing from going out now
I am going to make this brief because I'm sneezing all over the place. Allergies.
Saturday night I experienced rage for the first time in a long time. Not that I am spectacularly stoic especially after a few glasses of wine but I do rarely express any symptoms of any emotion, in particular anger, in particular at people. Alas I was irrational. Sort of.
A huge group of us went to this evening called Shake, Rattle and Bowl which really tickled me. I love that in the centre of London, going bowling is a huge novelty. Not really so much in the real world. But yeah, it was quite fun, people were a bit chavy, some were heavily euro trash, but on a whole a motley crue of funny, friendly people.
We had moved locations a few times and I believe this to be after I had consumed a better portion of a bottle of white when I realised that my blazer was missing. Things do become a bit hazy here but I do remember searching throughout the entire venue, in particular where we were sitting and I know that I had it beside me when we were sitting down. So Chris helped me check everywhere, he decided it was gone. I decided to get really, really pissed off. I went off of this massive rant about always being the person who "vouched for humanity" but ultimately people are shit. Cringe worthy now but I guess I went off the deep end. So many of my friends have had their coats stolen on nights out. Sometimes a bit of it was their fault (if you just put it down somewhere, really just anywhere) another friend was once sitting on her brand new Vivienne Westwood jacket and someone took it from right underneath her. How disgusting is that?
Anyway, the real reason I'm so annoyed is that I only have only 3 pairs of black socks and stupidly, had stashed a pair in my blazer pocket in case were going bowling.
Saturday night I experienced rage for the first time in a long time. Not that I am spectacularly stoic especially after a few glasses of wine but I do rarely express any symptoms of any emotion, in particular anger, in particular at people. Alas I was irrational. Sort of.
A huge group of us went to this evening called Shake, Rattle and Bowl which really tickled me. I love that in the centre of London, going bowling is a huge novelty. Not really so much in the real world. But yeah, it was quite fun, people were a bit chavy, some were heavily euro trash, but on a whole a motley crue of funny, friendly people.
We had moved locations a few times and I believe this to be after I had consumed a better portion of a bottle of white when I realised that my blazer was missing. Things do become a bit hazy here but I do remember searching throughout the entire venue, in particular where we were sitting and I know that I had it beside me when we were sitting down. So Chris helped me check everywhere, he decided it was gone. I decided to get really, really pissed off. I went off of this massive rant about always being the person who "vouched for humanity" but ultimately people are shit. Cringe worthy now but I guess I went off the deep end. So many of my friends have had their coats stolen on nights out. Sometimes a bit of it was their fault (if you just put it down somewhere, really just anywhere) another friend was once sitting on her brand new Vivienne Westwood jacket and someone took it from right underneath her. How disgusting is that?
Anyway, the real reason I'm so annoyed is that I only have only 3 pairs of black socks and stupidly, had stashed a pair in my blazer pocket in case were going bowling.
Friday 3 April 2009
me want food
All I really have to say for myself is I am quite excited for this evening. It doesn't involve being fueled on white wine and running around as if my head has been cut off. Tonight, and I intend to stick to my guns, Chris and I are staying. We're ordering Chinese because I keep reading Tre's blog and she keeps talking about 400 spring rolls, which has become my new unattainable fantasy. Unattainable up until tonight.
Chris came up with this expression that fits really well: "You know when I get something in my head I have to eat it,". He loves chocolatey treats like biscuits and kit kats, oh and chocolate covered donuts. I'm much more of a crunchy food craver. I mean I have been picturing myself biting into a spring roll since last Friday. I can hear, smell, taste, and feel the spring roll actually entering my mouth and being chomped down on. And I get like that with chips too. But chips are so easy to come by, my little spring roll friends aren't. Also, I can feel the wooden chopsticks in my fingers and me eating duck chow mein (see above for the variety of sensations that I have).
Now I realise that I am not describing all these sensations with elegance but that's because I'm now so hungry and it's only 12.32pm and I have to wait another 7 hours before my fantasy has been fulfilled. Me, diving into a golden sea of 400 spring rolls and basically eating my way out.
Just picturing that surreal mental image in my head. Don't think it's pervy. I'm just really hungry.
Chris came up with this expression that fits really well: "You know when I get something in my head I have to eat it,". He loves chocolatey treats like biscuits and kit kats, oh and chocolate covered donuts. I'm much more of a crunchy food craver. I mean I have been picturing myself biting into a spring roll since last Friday. I can hear, smell, taste, and feel the spring roll actually entering my mouth and being chomped down on. And I get like that with chips too. But chips are so easy to come by, my little spring roll friends aren't. Also, I can feel the wooden chopsticks in my fingers and me eating duck chow mein (see above for the variety of sensations that I have).
Now I realise that I am not describing all these sensations with elegance but that's because I'm now so hungry and it's only 12.32pm and I have to wait another 7 hours before my fantasy has been fulfilled. Me, diving into a golden sea of 400 spring rolls and basically eating my way out.
Just picturing that surreal mental image in my head. Don't think it's pervy. I'm just really hungry.
Tuesday 31 March 2009
see bellow
Thanks wiki. BV3 as they are also know as, are indeed Canadian. It shocks me that they could have such a penetrating force.
I need a life. That last post was a bit trite. This is all getting a bit silly.
I need a life. That last post was a bit trite. This is all getting a bit silly.
Spotify to find yourself
I haven't updated with any cultural exposition, I guess mainly due to too much disposition.
Weird semi-cultural quirk 1. Before exams in high school, I used to listen to Bennie and the Jets by Elton John. It stemmed from having it in my head during my french exam in gr.10 which I did fantastically well on and thus assumed it was lucky or something. Listening to it right now via Spotify. It's so, so good. I'm not a huge Elton John fan, but some of his songs are brilliant, and some of course now have been relegated to cliche (Tiny Dancer from Almost Famous, Candle in the Wind etc.). I also think it's funny now that I have some perspective and maturity, so many of his songs are about drugs. Rocket Man getting 'high as a kite'. Can't believe I missed that when I was 17.
Strange cultural quirk 2. Whenever I get back from a night out and have had a few...I keep listening to Bay City Rollers, 'Saturday Night'. It could be the primitive chanting of 'S.A.T.U.R.D.A.Y' that gets me, or post disco-rock Scottish singing voice, or the fact that it too, is way good but I always put it on at 3am. I wish my Last.fm list could recall times of songs played (for statistical interest as well as this).
Funny quirk 3. Tonight Chris was making sausage and mash and I was sitting at the computer reading some articles when I had a flashback to Friday night. "Did we hear 'Drinking in LA', I don't know but I just thought of that song." I pose the question. Chris thinks we might have heard it a pub we were at on Friday night. He then does this long, bloated story how it was used in a beer advert here, some defunct beer that I can't recall but then of course must Spotify.
'Hi. My name is Stereo Mike.' - is that what that chick says?
Anyway, Branson knows all the words. And I squealed with laughter. He was just mashing some potatoes, singing along as if I wasn't there. I think that song came out when I was in gr. 7 and remember having a boy I had a crush on, he was over at my house after we cheekily went trick or treating. And what was the name of the Canadian band that was similar to Bran Van 3000, or is it just them that I'm thinking of?
How great is streaming music online to alert your nostalgia subconscious? Silly things just keep popping into my head.
Weird semi-cultural quirk 1. Before exams in high school, I used to listen to Bennie and the Jets by Elton John. It stemmed from having it in my head during my french exam in gr.10 which I did fantastically well on and thus assumed it was lucky or something. Listening to it right now via Spotify. It's so, so good. I'm not a huge Elton John fan, but some of his songs are brilliant, and some of course now have been relegated to cliche (Tiny Dancer from Almost Famous, Candle in the Wind etc.). I also think it's funny now that I have some perspective and maturity, so many of his songs are about drugs. Rocket Man getting 'high as a kite'. Can't believe I missed that when I was 17.
Strange cultural quirk 2. Whenever I get back from a night out and have had a few...I keep listening to Bay City Rollers, 'Saturday Night'. It could be the primitive chanting of 'S.A.T.U.R.D.A.Y' that gets me, or post disco-rock Scottish singing voice, or the fact that it too, is way good but I always put it on at 3am. I wish my Last.fm list could recall times of songs played (for statistical interest as well as this).
Funny quirk 3. Tonight Chris was making sausage and mash and I was sitting at the computer reading some articles when I had a flashback to Friday night. "Did we hear 'Drinking in LA', I don't know but I just thought of that song." I pose the question. Chris thinks we might have heard it a pub we were at on Friday night. He then does this long, bloated story how it was used in a beer advert here, some defunct beer that I can't recall but then of course must Spotify.
'Hi. My name is Stereo Mike.' - is that what that chick says?
Anyway, Branson knows all the words. And I squealed with laughter. He was just mashing some potatoes, singing along as if I wasn't there. I think that song came out when I was in gr. 7 and remember having a boy I had a crush on, he was over at my house after we cheekily went trick or treating. And what was the name of the Canadian band that was similar to Bran Van 3000, or is it just them that I'm thinking of?
How great is streaming music online to alert your nostalgia subconscious? Silly things just keep popping into my head.
Friday 27 March 2009
oh dear me
Good. I got him out of the house!
I managed to nearly concuss my dear husband putting away our groceries that we now get delivered every 2 weeks. He was putting away the Diet Coke and Perrier in the bottom cupboards, I was putting the soups in the top cupboard. I left the door open and he cracked his head on his ascent. But I smacked his ass while he made that motion and thought to myself, I didn't hit him that hard. Oh wait. He's grabbing his head and just screamed an obscenity. I rubbed his back and started to cry a bit myself because I really hurt him. Then hugged him apologizing an innocuous amount. Clearly I felt terrible.
Then the hypochondriac rears it's ugly 'I think I have a concussion and will die' head. He takes a hot shower and comes out feeling shaky. Starts spreading cream cheese on a bagel, feeling very shaky. "I think I have a concussion," he says. I reply with "you'd feel sleepy and very nauseous. Do you even have a head ache?" "No, not really, it's just tender around the back of my head and around my eyes," "I'm sure you don't have a concussion, I would be fighting you to stay awake if you did,"
"Check my pupils, are they the same size?" he asks 5 minutes later after emerging from the bathroom, after examining his eyes in the mirror. "Yes they're the same size," I insist. "My mother told me that if you have a concussion then your pupils become different sizes," (Another example of Chris' mum indulges his psychoses, bless her.) "I promise you're fine," I keep insisting, crying a bit inside because I've created this monster, entirely by accident.
I then got an email from a job application while Chris was on the computer and I come right over. He says it was good timing because he was about to google 'concussion'. The hell of my own creation. "YOU'RE FINE" I keep repeating however I can't get too pissy with him because I was the one who left the cupboard open.
He just left to go the bank. He asked if I was happy that he was going and I just looked up and smiled and said "I love you," and he left. Now if he keels over on the walk over, I'm going to feel very guilty.
I managed to nearly concuss my dear husband putting away our groceries that we now get delivered every 2 weeks. He was putting away the Diet Coke and Perrier in the bottom cupboards, I was putting the soups in the top cupboard. I left the door open and he cracked his head on his ascent. But I smacked his ass while he made that motion and thought to myself, I didn't hit him that hard. Oh wait. He's grabbing his head and just screamed an obscenity. I rubbed his back and started to cry a bit myself because I really hurt him. Then hugged him apologizing an innocuous amount. Clearly I felt terrible.
Then the hypochondriac rears it's ugly 'I think I have a concussion and will die' head. He takes a hot shower and comes out feeling shaky. Starts spreading cream cheese on a bagel, feeling very shaky. "I think I have a concussion," he says. I reply with "you'd feel sleepy and very nauseous. Do you even have a head ache?" "No, not really, it's just tender around the back of my head and around my eyes," "I'm sure you don't have a concussion, I would be fighting you to stay awake if you did,"
"Check my pupils, are they the same size?" he asks 5 minutes later after emerging from the bathroom, after examining his eyes in the mirror. "Yes they're the same size," I insist. "My mother told me that if you have a concussion then your pupils become different sizes," (Another example of Chris' mum indulges his psychoses, bless her.) "I promise you're fine," I keep insisting, crying a bit inside because I've created this monster, entirely by accident.
I then got an email from a job application while Chris was on the computer and I come right over. He says it was good timing because he was about to google 'concussion'. The hell of my own creation. "YOU'RE FINE" I keep repeating however I can't get too pissy with him because I was the one who left the cupboard open.
He just left to go the bank. He asked if I was happy that he was going and I just looked up and smiled and said "I love you," and he left. Now if he keels over on the walk over, I'm going to feel very guilty.
Wednesday 25 March 2009
Monday 23 March 2009
ew
Something gross happened yesterday.
It was Mother's Day in the UK yesterday and we were preparing for Chris' mum to visit us. We hadn't properly cleaned the flat yet and I was all in a rush at 10.45am to make the place appear as tidy as possible. Chris was laxly sitting on the sofa, watching Sky Sports News. I jumped in the shower first because my hair takes ages to air dry, and surprised myself by actually being able to take a shower less than 10 minutes long. So I'm rushing around, trying to shuffle into these tights I bought which I'm sure are for children because they only come half way up my thigh, until I tug and pull and they barely cover my ass. It's all very lovely up until this point. So I shout at Chris who has now finished the dishes and has moved on to wiping the counters. He's very annoying when he does this because it takes him ages and he doesn't know which cleaning products to use and there's this massive stain on our stovetop and he's concerned it won't come off.
I shuffle him into the bathroom soon there after insisting that I can take care of the kitchen. When you turn our bathroom light on, the fan automatically comes on, but I can still hear if shower water is running or not. And it wasn't. And he had been in there for about 5 minutes. I then shout "what are you doing in there?" and Chris shouts back with much disdain "I'm on the toilet!!".
But that's not the gross part.
The day prior he had been travelling on the bus and just scoping around from the top deck. And there he spotted a street in East London called 'Diss Street'. He promptly went 'hmmph' out because he thought it was funny. Imagine calling someone and saying 'I'm on diss street' and the person on the other line goes 'no I'm on diss street'. Say it out loud if you don't think it's funny. And if you still don't think it's funny; welcome to my life. The reason this was such a huge cause for concern, a shiny red flag was because this is my dad's exact humour. He loves a pun, especially anything to do with saying something the way a foreigner would say it (both my parents were Polish immigrants and this caused riotous jokes between my uncle and father in what their parents would say and pronounce. For example: Dallas, Texas would become Dollars, Taxes...these are all massive family in-jokes which I am still trying to distance myself from, but I hope you're getting my point).
Right so I knew immediately that my dad would think that's funny. And then the toilet bowl disdain. My father is identical. My dad is the most easy going, lax man, who when he yelled at us as children (which was very few and far between) we would all start laughing because it's impossible to take him seriously. My brother still riles him up to get some form of hilarious outburst (but at least we aren't making fun on his accent...). But there is a time when you never disturb my dad, and that's bathroom time. I remember once, I hadn't realised where he was, and someone was on the phone for him, and I kept shouting and shouting throughout the house until finally he screamed, with a similar shrill to Chris', "I'm on the toilet!!". This was not a man to be disrupted.
I spoke with my dad on the phone last night and told him the 'diss street' because I knew he would get a kick out of it. And it was also to confirm my feelings I had earlier.
After Chris shouted back at me I started to vacuum the bedroom. "Eww. I married my father" I said out loud to myself, disappointed that I could have been so careless. But in what sort of Freudian nightmare does a Waspy guy from Britain and Jewy guy from Montreal possess any sort of similar characteristics, sense of humour? This all makes me feel rather queasy.
It was Mother's Day in the UK yesterday and we were preparing for Chris' mum to visit us. We hadn't properly cleaned the flat yet and I was all in a rush at 10.45am to make the place appear as tidy as possible. Chris was laxly sitting on the sofa, watching Sky Sports News. I jumped in the shower first because my hair takes ages to air dry, and surprised myself by actually being able to take a shower less than 10 minutes long. So I'm rushing around, trying to shuffle into these tights I bought which I'm sure are for children because they only come half way up my thigh, until I tug and pull and they barely cover my ass. It's all very lovely up until this point. So I shout at Chris who has now finished the dishes and has moved on to wiping the counters. He's very annoying when he does this because it takes him ages and he doesn't know which cleaning products to use and there's this massive stain on our stovetop and he's concerned it won't come off.
I shuffle him into the bathroom soon there after insisting that I can take care of the kitchen. When you turn our bathroom light on, the fan automatically comes on, but I can still hear if shower water is running or not. And it wasn't. And he had been in there for about 5 minutes. I then shout "what are you doing in there?" and Chris shouts back with much disdain "I'm on the toilet!!".
But that's not the gross part.
The day prior he had been travelling on the bus and just scoping around from the top deck. And there he spotted a street in East London called 'Diss Street'. He promptly went 'hmmph' out because he thought it was funny. Imagine calling someone and saying 'I'm on diss street' and the person on the other line goes 'no I'm on diss street'. Say it out loud if you don't think it's funny. And if you still don't think it's funny; welcome to my life. The reason this was such a huge cause for concern, a shiny red flag was because this is my dad's exact humour. He loves a pun, especially anything to do with saying something the way a foreigner would say it (both my parents were Polish immigrants and this caused riotous jokes between my uncle and father in what their parents would say and pronounce. For example: Dallas, Texas would become Dollars, Taxes...these are all massive family in-jokes which I am still trying to distance myself from, but I hope you're getting my point).
Right so I knew immediately that my dad would think that's funny. And then the toilet bowl disdain. My father is identical. My dad is the most easy going, lax man, who when he yelled at us as children (which was very few and far between) we would all start laughing because it's impossible to take him seriously. My brother still riles him up to get some form of hilarious outburst (but at least we aren't making fun on his accent...). But there is a time when you never disturb my dad, and that's bathroom time. I remember once, I hadn't realised where he was, and someone was on the phone for him, and I kept shouting and shouting throughout the house until finally he screamed, with a similar shrill to Chris', "I'm on the toilet!!". This was not a man to be disrupted.
I spoke with my dad on the phone last night and told him the 'diss street' because I knew he would get a kick out of it. And it was also to confirm my feelings I had earlier.
After Chris shouted back at me I started to vacuum the bedroom. "Eww. I married my father" I said out loud to myself, disappointed that I could have been so careless. But in what sort of Freudian nightmare does a Waspy guy from Britain and Jewy guy from Montreal possess any sort of similar characteristics, sense of humour? This all makes me feel rather queasy.
Tuesday 17 March 2009
sisters before misters
Don't anymore into this than mild procrastination because I'm already on the computer, already listening to music, already removed myself from a prostrate position and am now sitting upright, typing, grooving.
It's actually not so much procrastination as it is waiting for my husband to return home from a hard day's work to spellcheck/life check my re-re-rewriting of my cv. He's been working down the ol' salt mine whilst I've been home, watching Gossip Girl and thinking about stuff. Fair world indeed. But in all seriousness, since hubby is the only one between us two bringing home the bacon (currently, sure not forever), and as no matter how many positive assertions I put into this cosmic earth, my ass keeps getting kicked. And you know, that being said, it's time to bring in the guns. I am Jonas smallest protege. I am also Jonas' supporting act/choir member. We had a horrific experience on Friday night with Carly Simon and Chris' video recorder.
And then Saturday with the lovely Pippa. We both refer to each other as the stress-free female friend. This is because we're both very low maintenance pals. But here is the question I pose: do you have certain friends that no matter what you say, you feel like you're being excessively weird? On Friday night in a full fat Coke state, I was suggesting some Simone de Beauvoir-esque questions, most existential, slightly paranoid, and now they're ringing in my ears. I'm sure Pippa doesn't think that I'm weird but does she maybe?
This is a prime example of how marriage has affected me. In layman's terms: boys schmoys. I no longer really care what they think, it's now all about the female counterpart. Ditch bromance for a moment, let's move on to a new term I've just coined in my head "Obsission" (get it?)
Two problems that arise:
1. I never had loads of girlfriends when I was younger up until now. Maybe 10 but compared to my infinite number of malefriends, none of which were courters, not even close. I'm a boys girl. That being said, I love having a girl that I can confide with, but maybe, just maybe I over-indulged (for myself, I know I'm guarded but likewise can be ungracefully honest).
2. Meeting new girls. I was at a bar with a friend a few weeks ago, she then left and I decided that I wasn't prepared to go home yet and was enjoying the live music so I sat and ordered another glass of wine. Now that being said, I would rather be alone that having to start a conversation with a stranger, but the bartender showed concern for my apparent sadness (I told her I just thinking and enjoying myself) and she called over her Australian friend who was there alone as well. So we chatted for about an hour and all was very lovely. And maybe we'll run into each other again and pick up where we left off, or not. Either way, I guess it's true: you can't meet boys in bars, and now evidently you can't meet girls there either.
Yeah so new mission- stop being weird, stop being paranoid about being weird, stop being paranoid about being paranoid. Do I stand alone here? I'm sorry I have to ask, but am I being rational and is this it, I have indulged too much and am now subject to ridicule and severe judgment for in fact, being weird?
It's actually not so much procrastination as it is waiting for my husband to return home from a hard day's work to spellcheck/life check my re-re-rewriting of my cv. He's been working down the ol' salt mine whilst I've been home, watching Gossip Girl and thinking about stuff. Fair world indeed. But in all seriousness, since hubby is the only one between us two bringing home the bacon (currently, sure not forever), and as no matter how many positive assertions I put into this cosmic earth, my ass keeps getting kicked. And you know, that being said, it's time to bring in the guns. I am Jonas smallest protege. I am also Jonas' supporting act/choir member. We had a horrific experience on Friday night with Carly Simon and Chris' video recorder.
And then Saturday with the lovely Pippa. We both refer to each other as the stress-free female friend. This is because we're both very low maintenance pals. But here is the question I pose: do you have certain friends that no matter what you say, you feel like you're being excessively weird? On Friday night in a full fat Coke state, I was suggesting some Simone de Beauvoir-esque questions, most existential, slightly paranoid, and now they're ringing in my ears. I'm sure Pippa doesn't think that I'm weird but does she maybe?
This is a prime example of how marriage has affected me. In layman's terms: boys schmoys. I no longer really care what they think, it's now all about the female counterpart. Ditch bromance for a moment, let's move on to a new term I've just coined in my head "Obsission" (get it?)
Two problems that arise:
1. I never had loads of girlfriends when I was younger up until now. Maybe 10 but compared to my infinite number of malefriends, none of which were courters, not even close. I'm a boys girl. That being said, I love having a girl that I can confide with, but maybe, just maybe I over-indulged (for myself, I know I'm guarded but likewise can be ungracefully honest).
2. Meeting new girls. I was at a bar with a friend a few weeks ago, she then left and I decided that I wasn't prepared to go home yet and was enjoying the live music so I sat and ordered another glass of wine. Now that being said, I would rather be alone that having to start a conversation with a stranger, but the bartender showed concern for my apparent sadness (I told her I just thinking and enjoying myself) and she called over her Australian friend who was there alone as well. So we chatted for about an hour and all was very lovely. And maybe we'll run into each other again and pick up where we left off, or not. Either way, I guess it's true: you can't meet boys in bars, and now evidently you can't meet girls there either.
Yeah so new mission- stop being weird, stop being paranoid about being weird, stop being paranoid about being paranoid. Do I stand alone here? I'm sorry I have to ask, but am I being rational and is this it, I have indulged too much and am now subject to ridicule and severe judgment for in fact, being weird?
Wednesday 11 March 2009
official
The sole reason for my typing this is because I want it immortalised.
I have made a deal, very similar to Tracy's in the sense that if I do get this job, I promise to buy a family in Africa a goat as well as donate monthly to the NSPCC. As an added bonus, I promise to stop and give my details and support to street volunteers trying to petition for whatever their cause is.
And just to prove my denial of self-centeredness, how horrific is the news today? Wow BBC news is especially harrowing with topics unrelated to Recession and all related to shootings.
But just to make matters worse: our boiler is now broken.
Come on deal!
I have made a deal, very similar to Tracy's in the sense that if I do get this job, I promise to buy a family in Africa a goat as well as donate monthly to the NSPCC. As an added bonus, I promise to stop and give my details and support to street volunteers trying to petition for whatever their cause is.
And just to prove my denial of self-centeredness, how horrific is the news today? Wow BBC news is especially harrowing with topics unrelated to Recession and all related to shootings.
But just to make matters worse: our boiler is now broken.
Come on deal!
Monday 9 March 2009
cold war
We had at one point this Saturday 7 strangers sitting in our kitchen.
Chris and I had Derry, Jonas and Pippa come round for a bit of food, wine and Wii. All very fun and a bit silly as Jonas is regaling us with stories from his work (clearly you have to be able to laugh at redundancy right now, thankfully he was not made so, but everyone else around him was), then I had the bright idea to meet my friend Suzy at the pub up the market for one quick glass, which turned into two slow large batches of wine, which is fine but I'm full of remorse for missing out the boys attempting to beat my Guitar Hero 99% score.
So Suzy is there with her boyfriend Jakob who was there for a goodbye party for a Canadian girl moving to New York to be with her American boyfriend. Is everyone still following. So Suzy doesn't know these people, and I think Jakob only knows maybe two of them. Suzy and I then buy another bottle of wine as the pub was closing in 10 minutes and I hightail it back to mine with Suzy and Jakob following suit.
Back at our flat with everyone engrossed in Streetfighter, I'm forced to demonstrate my exceptional skills and was then booed off stage in Guitar Hero because I was now, clearly too drunk to feign hand/eye coordination. However I pulled it together after a pint of water and played a rough 87% game. And just as I was being lauded for my Spears-like comeback, our buzzer rings with Suzy, Jakob and a slew of strangers from the pub. And then plunk down in our kitchen whilst we keep playing Wii. I had briefly spoken with Canadian girl moving to NYC so we had a mild rapport however the 6 remaining strangers sat comfortably in my kitchen, not even attempting to make contact with the 5 of us, sitting across the room. Suzy and Jakob acted like moderators, sitting perfectly in the centre of room, the divide between us and them.
I can't help but feel it was all a bit high school. But the 7 strangers were perfectly nice and ended up leaving 30 minutes later. But this lead me to believe- what we weren't fun enough?
Chris and I had Derry, Jonas and Pippa come round for a bit of food, wine and Wii. All very fun and a bit silly as Jonas is regaling us with stories from his work (clearly you have to be able to laugh at redundancy right now, thankfully he was not made so, but everyone else around him was), then I had the bright idea to meet my friend Suzy at the pub up the market for one quick glass, which turned into two slow large batches of wine, which is fine but I'm full of remorse for missing out the boys attempting to beat my Guitar Hero 99% score.
So Suzy is there with her boyfriend Jakob who was there for a goodbye party for a Canadian girl moving to New York to be with her American boyfriend. Is everyone still following. So Suzy doesn't know these people, and I think Jakob only knows maybe two of them. Suzy and I then buy another bottle of wine as the pub was closing in 10 minutes and I hightail it back to mine with Suzy and Jakob following suit.
Back at our flat with everyone engrossed in Streetfighter, I'm forced to demonstrate my exceptional skills and was then booed off stage in Guitar Hero because I was now, clearly too drunk to feign hand/eye coordination. However I pulled it together after a pint of water and played a rough 87% game. And just as I was being lauded for my Spears-like comeback, our buzzer rings with Suzy, Jakob and a slew of strangers from the pub. And then plunk down in our kitchen whilst we keep playing Wii. I had briefly spoken with Canadian girl moving to NYC so we had a mild rapport however the 6 remaining strangers sat comfortably in my kitchen, not even attempting to make contact with the 5 of us, sitting across the room. Suzy and Jakob acted like moderators, sitting perfectly in the centre of room, the divide between us and them.
I can't help but feel it was all a bit high school. But the 7 strangers were perfectly nice and ended up leaving 30 minutes later. But this lead me to believe- what we weren't fun enough?
Wednesday 4 March 2009
here are a few things I want to change
Firstly. I want to stop falling into a deep sleep until 11.30am, dreaming how awful a mother I will be. I have had about 10 dreams in the past month where I keep having children I can't care for and end up being a neglectful, terrible mother. This morning, I had a baby and I tugged it along with me everywhere I went because one day I was pregnant, the next the baby was born and I didn't have time to buy a pram. Then I moved to Brooklyn to be the father (can't say who that was).
Last month I had a dream that Chris and I had a baby together but we were too afraid to tell his parents so we hid it in our flat whilst we all went out of the day. Then we had to make an excuse for why they couldn't come in a cup of tea.
I blame this on the 'octomom effect'. I've had well over 8 neglected dream babies now and I'm well sick of it. Is it possible for me to have that I take care of and care for, where I don't pretend it doesn't exist? I also hope this isn't my biological clock ticking. Like I tell everyone who goes 'oh you're married, when are you having children?', yeah 5 years. So don't hold your breath.
Next, I thought Paris Hilton brushing up against my boob was an omen, evidently not the case thus far. So now, I'm the harbinger of my own luck, therefore I'm taking up all of my friend Jonas' advice and writing a short bio to go with my new CV to send via recorded delivery as opposed to anonymous email. Of course wording is paramount but I want to convey the message that I'm bright, confident, enthusiastic, harbouring of great ideas etc. But when I try to write it out, it's just so self-indulgent and/or sounding ironic. That is the affect of this country. You can't sound positive without sounding fake. Any suggestions what I can say without sounding sycophantic about myself?
I blame this on the 'Woody Allen' effect. I've had well over 1000 experiences playing the self-effacing neurotic Jew type and now dream of blonder pastures and enthusiastic written passages. Seriously any suggestions at all?
Last month I had a dream that Chris and I had a baby together but we were too afraid to tell his parents so we hid it in our flat whilst we all went out of the day. Then we had to make an excuse for why they couldn't come in a cup of tea.
I blame this on the 'octomom effect'. I've had well over 8 neglected dream babies now and I'm well sick of it. Is it possible for me to have that I take care of and care for, where I don't pretend it doesn't exist? I also hope this isn't my biological clock ticking. Like I tell everyone who goes 'oh you're married, when are you having children?', yeah 5 years. So don't hold your breath.
Next, I thought Paris Hilton brushing up against my boob was an omen, evidently not the case thus far. So now, I'm the harbinger of my own luck, therefore I'm taking up all of my friend Jonas' advice and writing a short bio to go with my new CV to send via recorded delivery as opposed to anonymous email. Of course wording is paramount but I want to convey the message that I'm bright, confident, enthusiastic, harbouring of great ideas etc. But when I try to write it out, it's just so self-indulgent and/or sounding ironic. That is the affect of this country. You can't sound positive without sounding fake. Any suggestions what I can say without sounding sycophantic about myself?
I blame this on the 'Woody Allen' effect. I've had well over 1000 experiences playing the self-effacing neurotic Jew type and now dream of blonder pastures and enthusiastic written passages. Seriously any suggestions at all?
Monday 2 March 2009
hot, loquacious
I had the best Pakistani food on Saturday night at a restaurant off Brick lane. Basically a meat platter is brought to you still sizzling hot. I have only eaten lamb chops maybe twice before Saturday but I couldn't get enough but did eventually cut myself off because it was just too spicy. And I finished a bottle of wine on my own because that affliction.
I have discovered a formula for romance that I am comfortable with. Kissing certainly isn't as intimate as sharing socks and saving lovers blistered feet.
Last week I finished reading Wetlands (not sure if it has come out in Canada, I'll bet it has). I did enjoy it, vulgarity and all. It wasn't so much the sex that I found controversial, and not even her hygienic practices but the things she does to herself in order to consume bodily things and self administered injuries. It has had an incredible PR campaign behind and while I don't necessarily agree it's a post-feminist look at vagina hygiene or it's really all that provocative, or that I participate in anything that she does so it's ultimately not shocking to me, it did make me wrinkle my nose and my gag reflex did go off once which is astounding for a book. But girls in Canada, it's a German book that was published in the UK in February so I assume it will make its way to Canada soon and would recommend it. It's crass and explicit but not hypersexualised in a smutty sort of way. More smudgy. You'll understand once you read it.
This week, with any luck I intend to keep a low profile. There are two reasons why I want to stop writing this now. One being that I have nothing that useful left to write and the second being that I can't spell this evening. I've just tried to type surprisingly about 6 times before it was correct. So yeah, I'm quitting.
I have discovered a formula for romance that I am comfortable with. Kissing certainly isn't as intimate as sharing socks and saving lovers blistered feet.
Last week I finished reading Wetlands (not sure if it has come out in Canada, I'll bet it has). I did enjoy it, vulgarity and all. It wasn't so much the sex that I found controversial, and not even her hygienic practices but the things she does to herself in order to consume bodily things and self administered injuries. It has had an incredible PR campaign behind and while I don't necessarily agree it's a post-feminist look at vagina hygiene or it's really all that provocative, or that I participate in anything that she does so it's ultimately not shocking to me, it did make me wrinkle my nose and my gag reflex did go off once which is astounding for a book. But girls in Canada, it's a German book that was published in the UK in February so I assume it will make its way to Canada soon and would recommend it. It's crass and explicit but not hypersexualised in a smutty sort of way. More smudgy. You'll understand once you read it.
This week, with any luck I intend to keep a low profile. There are two reasons why I want to stop writing this now. One being that I have nothing that useful left to write and the second being that I can't spell this evening. I've just tried to type surprisingly about 6 times before it was correct. So yeah, I'm quitting.
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