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.
Tuesday 31 March 2009
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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