Cheese

ummm...ooops

2011-08-21T11:46:00.002+01:00

Apologies for this blip and lack of availability. I have been manic with work since beginning of May through to mid-August (not really the best excuse but...). Also, there has been some intense personal admin that I've needed to take care of. Getting a new Canadian passport in Britain was very stressful as a) I wasn't sure of their time frame and needed it before my dad arrived second week of August, b) my dad as a dentist has always been my guarantor, and renewing your passport abroad, I needed someone professional in London, c) my friend Ed is a practicing barrister and I made the realisation that someone my age is professional enough to convince the Canadian consulate that I am who I claim to be, d) I'm so co-dependent, this is the first time that I've had to handle these official forms myself and lastly e) it was really quite straight forward and my passport came 9 days later thus rendering me feeling stupid for getting stressed over nothing.

New issue though- do I get a new indefinite leave stamp which can take up to 6 months and costs more money? And in five years time when my Canadian passport expires, I'll have to do it again? Or do I apply for British citizenship which again, can take up six months, costs more money but I'll be set for life? This is really interrupting my traveling plans as I can only go out of the country once with two passports (allegedly). I really dislike the feeling of being trapped and not being able to plan where we would like to go next. I'm desperate for another beach holiday, preferably Italy, preferably an island there. We are also considering Croatia and friends came back from Slovenia and said it was amazing too. It's frustrating to have Europe on your doorstep, the means to get there, but having to remain stationary. I'm still undecided what to do, and annoyingly when my dad came to visit last week, we didn't go to Paris as planned.

Even pausing to think about it now is frustrating. We were keen to go back to Bruges this winter, possibly convincing Chris' parents to take us there for xmas but we can't plan that far ahead. Still perplexed by the options, grimacing that there isn't a quick fix option.

1h35mins

2011-04-30T11:34:00.005+01:00

I was grossly surprised when on our flight to Berlin, it was announced that it would only take an hour 35 to get to Berlin. Now understandably as a Canadian, evem flights from Toronto to Montreal take 55 minutes and Germany is the largest country in Europe. Head scratching but a brilliant surprise as I thought it would be the length of let's say Toronto to Orlando (2hours+). Why had I not taken advantage earlier? Mainly due to the ease and simplicity of the eurostar and seemingly only venturing as far into central Europe as France and Belgium. Two places where I can speak the language (and at least when in Flemish regions of Brussels- everyone speaks English...). I had a German crash course with my sister over the phone and a girl I work with who taught me the correct pronunciation of toilet. Thankfully in Berlin you can get away with speaking English virtually everyone, except in the deepest recesses of east Berlin where a girl in a cafe who was our age had no clue what we were saying. But then Chris had such German bravado (plus he looks pretty German as well) that people would start to respond to him in German and he would have to shrug his shoulders and then say English. City is amazing and I'm already desperate to go back. Prague was gorgeous, and the language really made you feel out of your depth but again we could get away with English virtually everywhere. Not as much to do in the evenings as Berlin as it's either tacky stag dos in the new town area or techo/house nights which would be tortuous. We stayed in the posher area of town, right on the riverfront to evenings were spent wandering around dimly lit streets, mouths set to awe. Czechs are really friendly as well, and get apologising that their English wasn't good- we would then reply how sorry we were we didn't speak their language. That humbling attitude certainly doesn't exist in Paris and it was a fresh way of getting through a city without feeling too displaced. Also, the train we took from Berlin to Prague was incredible- once we got to Dresden which is one of the furthest points south east you can get before you hit Czech Republic, you go through the German country side but see the influence of east Central Europe. You bend around the river and there are incredible villages based on grassy hills.

infinite admonishment

2011-03-30T20:19:00.002+01:00

So just read that crap written below back, pile of shit. I'm also curious if these exercise references are really something to do with the fact that a) I can't button up nearly 2/3 of my trouser collection, hence skirts everyday and b) the fact that I just ate home-baked apple pie with whip cream on top.

This isn't self-criticism. No no. This is blame. I blame the feeder of the house, an unveiled brilliant cook who made oozing potatoes dauphinoise tonight that I was scooping the last dregs of cheese and red onion out with a fork and not an ounce of shame. He purposely makes bigger portions not just to plump me up so I can catch up with him and his belly, but also for the satisfaction of my persistent compliments of his cooking. Cooking, like writing, is simply an exercise in one's own vanity and boy is he basking in self-glory. Renaissance man in the kitchen.

Apparently you burn more calories reading than watching television. Positive thinking when reading 900+. Is the suggestion now, instead of smaller eating portions, larger reading targets?

infinite behest

2011-03-30T19:48:00.003+01:00

Right so I've committed the cardinal sin of 2011. As one may remember from 3-4 posts ago, which was actually 2010, I vowed to a) read more b) write more. Moderately failing at point b). Point a) is far trickier as I'm currently reading David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest which I promise is not an easy read. Umm let me explain if you haven't read it or know nothing about it. I have two simultaneous book marks in it, one for the first 900 pages of the book; one for the 200+ pages of footnotes. When reading, I set myself targets (I'm a painfully slow reader, plus I have to wear reading glasses so my eyes get tired, pretty much the obligatory excuse one uses when working out (weak ankles, poor upper body strength etc...) but applied to reading). So the other day's target was 20 pages in 40 minutes. Reading along, hit a footnote which was an epic 13 pages. Hardly a dent made into the novel portion which again one could compare to the effort made when working, then realising the next day the effects weren't instantaneous.

Anyway, it's big and heavy and I've been carting it back and forth to work as the weather has been so nice and I could read outside. But instead, I sit inside, feeling guilty, reading the celeb section of the Daily Mail online.

little me

2011-02-28T18:57:00.002Z

It's that time of year again, where I stop performing life and only focus on work. The two this year seem to have blended together however as I am currently struggling with a cold however have a national press campaign launching on Wednesday. I haven't read much in the past three weeks+ which is disadvantageous as I'm currently attempting to read Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace which does require a) routine reading and b) my utmost attention.

I do however feel as though I'm now just a broken record, and hate that I'm fearing I have a become a moaner. Rather a moaner than a whiner though. That being said, it's now freezing again in London and my sicky body is hating that I'm currently cross legged, in fleece pjs, trying to warm up my clammy feet. Ever the picture of grace and dignity, I scratch my head in confusion...

In fact I wish I was one of those people, who crawled into bed and decided to never get out. You know the ones, who work from bed, eat, live from bed. I could absolutely be one of those, need a mobile phone and computer close. No doubt I would fall asleep on the job but the allure currently is making me salivate.

I think the most important thing right now though is Spring. There's more to this cryptic story but thought processes aren't synapsing and I need to find some slippers.

fix

2011-01-15T12:25:00.006Z

Last night, whilst watching television, i couldn't for the life of me remember the Amer-Cana equivalent of candy floss- to the point where I believe that's what we called it. The deep, dark recesses of my mind finally pulled the file that it's cotton candy. And I assume I couldn't remember because being a dentist daughter, I was strictly forbidden to eat (except on special occasions such as a fun fair, or the last day of school when they brought in the machine and another side note: isn't calling it candy floss exceptionally offensive to those in the teeth trade?). Chris sadly has never tried it ever. This from the boy whose own mum still makes his appointments to visit the dentist (another side note: he's turning 27 in 3 weeks...)

11

2011-01-09T17:18:00.011Z

So rollicking good start to 2011. New Year's resolutions were to a) do the dishes every night before going to bed and b) trim up. Kitchen shimmers every night before bedtime, which is now 11pm- well it's get into bed for then but read for an hour. Which brings me to point c); not so much a resolution as a promise to myself which has thus far proved well; read more you silly girl. Success with a cult classic to ease myself into the habit (yet again). Funny to be making you take up the habit instead of kicking one.

Point b) trim up. Wine belly has deflated from one week of not eating any meet or drinking any booze.* When I was cleaning my room reflecting on 2010, I think because I was in a new job and on the constant defense of impress!, I didn't commit much time to extra-curricular activities such as reading and writing. But now that I'm settled (it has been over a year now, must end the neurotic backlash of full-time employment) I hope to do more things that I like, for myself. And not just because I should, but because I want to.

But really, who actually wants to do the dishes?

*minus the one g&t last night whilst watching the newest episode of Jersey Shore; alcohol is a must whilst watching.

reading remorseful

2010-12-19T12:28:00.002Z

I've had an atypical year of reading- mainly because I've hardly done any of it. I'm ashamed to admit that I've only read 4 books this year, one of which took me nearly 6 months to go through. I'm one of those type people who can't just put a book down and start something new; I either have to completely abandon which takes quite a bit of will and strength or slowly plod my way through to the end. Take for instance Ghostwritten which is a fantastic book, but take me ages and ages to finish that by the time I got to the end, it had completely lost its point on me.

It's now taken me ages and ages (real time, approaching 2 months) just to finish Brave New World- which in all honesty still isn't done yet, I have only 40 pages left to read. I found whilst reading that, I had zero attention span. Half the reason it's taking me so long to finish is that I'd be reading, get to the bottom and have no idea what had just happened, or really what I was thinking about to distract myself.

2011 is going to be tackled with a new, opportunistic attitude. We have to buy a third bookcase because we have so many books (helps when husband works in publishing, and I keep every issue of Vogue. These things all contribute to the bookcase pile-up). I was chatting to Chris about being in a reading rut which he claims is quite common. It's helped me decide the kinds of books I really like, and apparently I really do enjoy female writers, modern, strong characters and plot focused, intricate story lines, inter-woven and transcendental. If I could, I would ditch fiction all together and just read anecdotal essays by David Sedaris, Chelsea Handler (even though she's not that brilliant of a writer, but her life is pretty funny), Sloane Crosley (again not that brilliant a writer, but I enjoy her life as well). That and any form of transgressive literature, modern, so insanely boring! Ok, 2011 needs to be about expanding horizons and like my wardrobe, not buying the same striped sweater over and over again.

bears in Belgium

2010-12-05T12:16:00.004Z

Chris and I finally went on our honeymoon last week to Brussels and Bruges in Belgium. Great holiday- Brussels is a bit counter-intuitive for tourists. We couldn't purchase metro tickets with our credits, and the machines only accept coins, not cash so we were perpetually breaking €50 notes. Brussels itself to me was like a post-communist Paris, it was very wide with lots of marble and 60s tiling. I was trying to explain this to a friend last night as Belgium was never a communist country but it's merely based on aesthetic. Bruges is one of my favourite places in the world now. Everything is within walking distance and there isn't a corner turned that isn't exquisite. Food was beyond words and the beer! Our honeymoon was virtually an exercise in beer tasting. But I think this is paving the way for a different kind of holiday for us- we've only done city breaks but now we keep discussing staying in a gite at a French winery. Definitely something a bit more rustic with food and wine.

There were quite a few exceptional stories that happened but the one that lingers is our last night in Brussels, we went to a Japanese-French fusion restaurant. All very lovely, with tables quite close together. We're on the end, an empty table next, and a British/American couple after that. This other middle-aged couple come in, bloke is British, not sure where the woman was from but her sounded American. The woman is complaining that she wants to sit further back but there aren't any tables available so they seat them in between us and the other couple. Chris and I ordered the 3 course surprise menu so first course arrives. We're trying to eat but this hideous woman next to us starts complaining that she's cold and that she doesn't know what the food is. The man is trying to subdue her by saying, we can go somewhere else, but she's then placating him but insisting they can stay. Chris and I try to talk to each other to discuss the food we're eating but can't keep our ears off the car crash that's happening next to us. Next the server comes over the woman demands to the man to have the server explain to her the menu in French (she says this to him in English)- so the man then speaks french to the server and he then explains it to her in french (sorry if that's confusing- it was to us as well- at this point my mouth was hanging open and I was willing them to just leave because Chris and I at that point were just talking to each other as if we were strangers). She then makes snide comments and looks at both us and the other couple and says I'm not eating, I know the types of people who come to these places and pay these prices. The man insists on paying but she just sits there arms crossed and refuses to choose anything from the menu. I think out of sheer embarrassment, the obvious tension between us, them and the other couple, they finally get up and leave. I say thank God to Chris, that I hadn't been listening to a word he was saying for the past 20 minutes and the couple overhear this and we have a big laugh. My heart was literally pounding though, I was having an anxiety attack just being near that couple's presence. It makes my stomach churn just thinking about it.

the moment of impact

2010-10-29T21:55:00.004+01:00

I'm just being a lazy twat. As of late, I've been having massive, long rants in my head which now involve me saying 'fuck' under neath my breath someone does something that clearly upsets my middleclass self. Latest irks all surround public transport. I could for the most part keep it stored away in my mind, packaged nicely and safe from escaping but now, even this morning when a truck was blocking the side walk and I had to step into the street, whilst stupid workers smoked fags and drunk coffee, I snickered shit at them, curled my lip and reluctantly stepped on to the street, half hoping a car would hit me and I could enter martyrdom. Oh just a police was around to issue a ticket. Seriously Hackney Road is extreme on a school day morning, especially around the bend near where it meets Shoreditch High St. I'm happy to still have the function of my fingers.

Oh and speaking of...the past two weeks I've managed to sit beside boogie flicker twice. First time: top deck, it's exciting when you get a seat, even though my bus ride isn't especially long. But there I was, didn't even need to ask the bloke to move his bag. But dear God he was digging for buried green treasure the entire bus ride. And once retrieved, he was clearly looking to bury someone on my coat because they were being flicked right on me. I refer to it as the 'boogie click', where you hear the moment of impact and pray it will slide right off. This particular topic is written with strain (I promise I just gagged reliving the experience). Is it beyond social decency to ask someone to kindly stop picking their nose? I had to get off the bus two stops before because I literally felt faint. The second time round, I did quite a few huffs, the classic clasping the bridge of your nose is despair, biting my lip as to not say a word. Again, I descended the bus early. They seem to find me.

see you

2010-09-30T23:36:00.003+01:00

I don't mean to be awol but first two weeks of the month spent in Canada (with slow connection speed, living in the country). Second two weeks spent catching up with work, life, sleeping schedule.

I'm sure I have so many profound things to say about the home/home divide but right now my sister is visiting and we just watched three episodes of Jersey Shore and I'm pretty sure my brain is now fried. No deep thoughts- just laughter traded as collateral.

When I'm in Canada with Chris, it feels even more exaggerated as my Canadian home, and I feel more so displaced. Now that Emma is here, I feel as though being tour guide around London makes it feel even more so mine. I think my issue stands that I walk to work through an 'unLondon' part of London (if that can exist- I think it's just the white terraced housing that I build in my mind that seems to only exist in the west yet we live in the east). I remember reading that about Paris- how the city can look so Parisian and how that made no sense at all but made perfect sense.

One grotesque thing not mentioned was I took the bus home the other day and instead of standing with the plebs on the bottom, I ventured upstairs. And my payment for doing so was having to sit beside boogie picker--> flicker. Oh yes. I thought I was going to faint. I hit my pain threshold and stood downstairs three stops before but guy was getting a bit too close to my brand new coat. It still sends shudders up my spine.

I went to paris with my friend pippa

2010-08-21T11:41:00.003+01:00

I went to Paris with my friend Pippa which was fun as it was my second time in Paris in two and half months- plus Paris is far quieter than London with about a third of the people. Unfortunately Paris was far quieter with that third of people being chopped into a further third because everyone is on 'vaccances'. So my friend Pippa used to live in Paris for nearly a year whilst at university so knew fun places, which were unfortunately closed due to said vaccances.

And even more unfortunate is getting your period on a Sunday morning to find no shops open, then getting lost amongst the diagonal streets of Paris and realising you left your iphone at the hotel. Oh look- it's nearly 12noon and you have to check out then. And you still haven't showered, or found a box of tampons yet. Oh and you're desperately lost because this is the man who approached me 10 minutes ago recoginising that you were a tourist and panicked, who insisted that his mother had just died and wanted some kind words said to him (rest assured, definitely not the case- but you did play along and say you were sad for his loss- in French no less). Ok, so let's jump on the Metro and go one stop (if you haven't been to Paris- Metro stops are quite literally a two minute walk away from each other, really close). Hmmm, Pippa has all of your tickets- let's buy a single. Oh fantastic, the person in front of you has no idea what they're doing- and your London impatience comes out of your mouth with a huge hurrumph. Oh, they recoginise you're annoyed and on the brink of tears, and you're desperately uncomfortable because you have your period, and you're hot and maybe just a bit hungover. Alright so you have your ticket. So you get down to the Metro, but it's Sunday, and the trains are 7 minutes apart. And the next one isn't for another 6 minutes. And it's 11.52am and you have to check out 8 minutes. But you still have to take a shower and cool off. And you can see your Metro stop down the station and think- should I just run down the tracks? But you don't. You wait, and think you're such a poser with your 'independent traveler' attitude, wishing you stinking husband was with you so he could have run out for the 'T run' and that you and lady time could be double up alone together. So on the Metro, run out at your stop. Quit speaking French for two minutes (thanks to your education, even 8 years in intensive French doesn't teach you how to say "I have my period, I'm very uncomfortable, I just got lost, and I have to take a shower. Please may I stay in the room for an extra half an hour?" Basically you say that, but leave out the first bit (you're coy after all). And thankfully French men take pity on young girls. So you're fine, granted extra time. And Paris was a lovely time.

gate

2010-07-24T14:03:00.002+01:00

Staff meeting at 11am on Monday of this week. Business as usual...

Then our Chief Exec, who is a) a Dame b) I see as a mentor c) have the utmost respect for d) feel so badly for her when she needs to address things like this:

The topic was introduced as something that needs to be discussed because it had been addressed internally by someone to HR, and now our HR officer had started a new job elsewhere so needed to be taken up by our C.E. So sheets of paper were circulated to everyone with two columns: a) acceptable b) not acceptable. First comments made by member of staff: what are skorts?

Apparently someone had said something to HR about someone wearing clothes they felt were inappropriate (umm, did I choose the absolute wrong day to wear shorts, I spent the rest of the day hiking them down. In my defense, they're dressy, and I wore them all day with a blazer). But I don't think it was these shorts which were the tip-off, but my leather shorts (they are loose fitting, again dressy). Oh dear god. Nothing is worse then deeming Draconian law over workers in a casual attired place- and horror of horrors, jeans are deemed unacceptable. So I'm thinking a) my leather shorts have clearly offended someone b) I need to quit my job if I can't wear jeans. Anecdotes were shared on the last time, pre-2002 when our C.E. had to address a man wearing tight short shorts and she's never discussed dress code since. Thankfully jeans made it back to the acceptable list, but I'm never wearing shorts again.

I returned home from work that day (chaffing on my legs from the constant tug down the thighs), and folded up the leather shorts and put them into the third drawer of my dresser. As I closed the drawer, I heard a small wimper and a gasp for last breaths.

thrown

2010-07-11T12:18:00.002+01:00

So as you may be aware, but maybe not, there's been this guy who shot his ex-girlfriend through a window, didn't kill her, but killed her current partner, then shot a police man, then wage war on police, he's been on the run in the north east of England, a considerably distance away. Anyway, it's terrifying, and people do truly go insane when it's hot and sunny in this country. The point is that I haven't been able to sleep very well over the past few evenings because of it, and because I'm the biggest baby.

When I was younger, it was a cardinal sin to wake my parents up, for whatever reason, fear, wet the bed, couldn't sleep because I watched the Exorcist and I was afraid the bed would convulse etc. I've very scared shitless in bed, at 12, and just had to grin and bear it until it was light outside again. I remember once hearing these weird horns and resolving myself to believe that it was ghosts in the attics. Realised the next morning it was my sister playing on this toy saxophone. But that's neither here nor there. Just an episodic replay of my irrational fear of the night.

But like most, because it's hot, I tend to have feverish dreams. So the other night, just having dropped off asleep, in my dream, I was sleeping towards the wall, and saw a man all dressed in white blending in with the paint colour. I then threw myself onto Chris, incoherently saying, Chris there's a man... So he started stroking my back so it was ok, and that's when I woke up to the feeling my heart pounding against his back. Still scares the shit out of me thinking back to that. And you can never fall back asleep after your heart races like that, and because you're afraid to fall back asleep and have a scary dream. So I asked Chris to stay awake until I fell asleep, which was of course yes. So I rolled back over, and he rubbed my back to calm me down. Not even five minutes later, I had to wake him up because he was snoring so loudly.

I emailed him the next day saying that I was really tired because I hadn't slept well. He said, oh no bad dream, don't worry, I can stay awake again until you fall asleep tonight.

one of those types

2010-06-27T12:08:00.003+01:00

It's been an emotionally tumultuous week, part self-inflicted, part-Daily Mail readers being shitty. This is actually severely hypocritical because I utilise/depend on/enjoy dialogue of the internet, but what I theorised over a year ago, the internet allows any shitty, banal, unimportant thought that pops into your head, to post it online, anonymously without any recourse. And it can never go away.

There's an expression here that says: today's newspapers are tomorrow fish and chip wrappers. Or something along those lines. But unfortunately stories that are in the paper, are also posted online. And because they're posted online, they subject to ignorant people's scrutiny of something they just don't understand.

Now last week's comment of "i've maxed on being nice..." quite literally now. I work for a national charity in the press department and not that I've ever seen myself as the type to work in the third sector, but that doesn't mean that I don't think I'm a good person and have compassion for people, because I do always feel interested in anyone's story, specifically those who are marginalised. So this campaign we've been working on has now launched, and part of working for a health charity is placing case studies throughout the media to highlight their condition and their experience of living with it. So our case study was placed in the Sun, Daily Mail, Daily Mirror and the Metro. Fine, red tops, great. Story is a bit contentious that's alright. So our case study has gained some weight since her condition because she's on steroids, and she's on oxygen 24/7, and she's in a wheelchair and the only thing she can do for herself is prepare food. Everything else someone needs to help her. She's 50, and speaks frankly about how she is dying from passive smoke. Also, she's the loveliest woman, with nothing but an incredible heart and huge spirit.

So the story appears in the papers, and immediately readers start making comments about 'oh maybe she's dying because she's fat...' and it's appalling. By 12noon, there are around 90 comments, 50% of which are so ignorant, and disgusting, the other 50% are defensive towards her. She called me later that day really upset, and I got all choked up as well speaking with her. I just couldn't imagine making a comment about something I know absolutely nothing about, but jumping to cutting judgments because I can, anonymously.

Within our team, we were discussing the best course of action. I still do believe that calling someone fat, and saying they're in a wheelchair because they're fat is an abilist remark and by the terms and conditions of these papers, such comments should be deleted. But each paper is so reluctant to take down any comments that aren't either racist or homophobic (their policy) because of censorship and the issues surrounding brazen action deleting on the internet. But regardless, it never goes away. Posted online, yesterday's papers aren't fish and chips wrappers, they're a constant reminder, a tick that you keep scratching, an emotional cut on your arm.

That night, Chris dragged me to a gig that I didn't really want to go to in the first place, but it was marred by this. And by inability to protect someone. And I thought that wouldn't happen in the charity sector. But she's in much better spirits now, because she's incredible and can move on. But I'm still sitting here in disbelief and disappointment. Both in myself and in manking (or the small fraction who read the Daily Mail).

good example

2010-06-20T15:41:00.004+01:00

In the midst of my working hell, I managed to do the ungodly task of clearing out my closet and drawers. I'm now subjected to watching football (i.e. unmanageable hell, mainly because England are rubbish) and thought I would think further about purge. This is also because it isn't so much about clothing but about the personal and professional anxieties that I need to delete from my database.

This blog is in real time, because we had the in-laws down this weekend, and I'm not coming round to stopping smiling. In all seriousness, my cheeks hurt from smiling all weekend. I did utter the words "I've maxed out on being nice" at work. I'm not a malicious person, and have always considered myself as a "nice" person, but I simply cannot be any longer. I noticed the first time at the grocery store when, I was paying up at the till, the check-out person asked how I was today, and I of course cordially replied, I'm well thank you, but did not pose the question back. And I have consciously not posed it back all weekend. When it's genuinely not a lack of disingenuine interest, I do care if the aren't well. I worked customer service and it's a wonder pleasantry when if people can at least feign interest in you. And I was ridiculed when I was younger (probably still now by my brother and sister) for being quote unquote too polite at restaurants.

Ok back to real time. E.T. is on and I can barely think of that film without crying. Still being capable of emotion is at least a positive. So this is me deleting stress, and inadvertently taking it out on other people, who don't even realise it.

Here's football, bin bags, and my Sunday afternoon.

bad example

2010-06-12T11:15:00.002+01:00

I have been completely consumed with work and therefore have nothing remotely interesting to say. Well one thing. Only that I would like a holiday.

Next week everything comes to a head and then should hopefully calm down. And then there's another peak of work. And then hopefully by third week of July, I will have other thoughts again.

this is brilliant

2010-05-15T13:48:00.000+01:00

Paris: the highlights from 30th April-5th May

2010-05-11T22:21:00.004+01:00

new(s)

2010-04-02T11:36:00.002+01:00

You preach about iphones- then they come into their own. It's such a boring story for me now but here we go:

Last Thursday, I did a spot of shopping in Islington before deciding to come home. Was on the bus which amazingly takes me to my front door, but on the bus, the road was blocked off because apparently there had been a fire. In my mind, I always think, "haha wouldn't it be funny if it was our flat?" but not residing to actually believe that to be the case. So the bus does this major loop and I have to walk for about five minutes to get there. And as I'm walking, our entire flat black is pitch black. Then as I walk up to the electro-magnetic door, it just swings open. So thankfully my neighbour comes in right behind me so I can ask what happened. Apparently our power substation caught on fire and subsequently exploded. Because it's my luck, Chris was at a work conference that evening so I was left to my own devices included entering scary dark flat, downloading a flashlight app, which by the way did not work. I eventually controlled my fear and anxiety with two glasses of wine whilst having my dad look for hotels for us to sleep in. In the end, we went to friends in Islington which was lovely however you never sleep well when you're terrified that you may not be able to go home for a week.

Thankfully nothing in our flat was ruined, but our buildings rubbish bins simply melted away. We now have this massive power generator, which on Tuesday, thanks to the machiavels in Hackney, the power wires were cut, thus rendering us powerless. According to Chris, the copper inside the wires is worth a lot of money hence the trimming. Awesome evening with police and fire brigade. And lack of sleep because I need the sound of a blowing fan (this isn't even a joke, I'm that neurotic that I can't sleep in stark silence).

During this Easter long weekend- I'm looking for a calming plateau.

part two

2010-03-13T13:24:00.003Z

I forgot; this really tickled me this week. I can't seem to make it fit the frame on my computer, but it may work on yours...

old luddite

2010-03-13T13:11:00.002Z

Things are much better now. I've spoken with my mother so much over the past few weeks which is a bit strange for our sort of relationship. We're close but we're not verbal. She emails me frequently but we usually only speak on the phone once a month. My dad calls every saturday or sunday on the dot at 1pm. But the last time I spoke with my mum, we discussed the glasses thing and she just laughed. Which then really upset. And then she kept banging on about her kitchen table and going to Home Sense and starting to cry looking at kitsch Easter items my grandmother would have loved. Evidently both of our feelings are based around materials. And then she didn't want to be the weird emotional lady in Home Sense so had to leave immediately. My family has this really strange aversion to crying. I've only ever seen my mother cry for real (watching movies doesn't cry because she cries in ALL movies- or just falls asleep before she starts...). I have never seen my father cry ever. I was never comfortable crying as a child past the age of 6 (before that, it was virtually nonstop, apparently I liked the attention, and my older sister was mean). Even now, I would never cry in front of my friends, and still don't really like crying in front of Chris (again, movies don't count because now I cry in virtually ALL movies).

I'm sucking the fun, I think it's time to move on. Back to telephones and luddism (and in the spirit of moving on...) I got an iPhone on thursday. Two things: I've never been on a phone contract before and had no problems getting credit. Yes adulthood. Second, I'm going to try to be a better with my phone. If you call our landline, I always answer, however before, mobile phone was always buried somewhere in my bag and battery had died. But I also don't believe that I have to be reachable at every moment in the day. Plus, I may be busy playing games!

part two

2010-02-27T15:33:00.002Z

Last post ending was merely a pause. According to my father (first phone call at 1.15pm GMT time), the visitation went well and he was leaving for the airport in 4 hours and would try to catch me then. Second answer phone message at 5.00pm GMT- we're now leaving for the airport, I'll email you. Thanks dad, love your trivial phone messages. But yes, everything is fine re: grandmother. I've been fine except yesterday I was looking at a pair of Alexander Wang sunglasses when a workmate said, oh those look like Dame Edna which always reminded me of my grandmothers as she had this super thick rimmed glasses purchased in the early 70s with rhinestones all around. Apparently it caused a lot of embarrassment for my mother as a teenager but I always thought they were badass.

And this is something that I keep thinking about, I don't know when it started, maybe a year ago...? But I keep thinking about when you die, and your body starts decomposing and it's really frightening me, especially over the past 3 months or so. I'm not afraid to die at all, but I'm so afraid of my body evaporating into nothing. I couldn't care less what would happen to my soul, or not happen, actually that's a lie because I believe in reincarnation but I'm a bit more liberal about it because I don't think my soul will become something else, but I do think I was a cat in a past life because I do love to pet. But I digress, do you follow? Soul needs to be left out of it, it's a mute point. But the physical aspect of bodies rotting. Yes my grandmother is being cremated which is equally as morbid, but I couldn't stop thinking about her glasses and what would happen to them. And if my mother would have to come across them cleaning out her house over the next six months.

Resolution for next week: stop obsessing about death and being so materialistic.

comb

2010-02-23T21:50:00.002Z

Infinite amount of brushes with mortality and adulthood. I find myself googling 'how to get a good credit score' and 'joint savings account'. I remember when I first moved to London I couldn't imagine the burden of having a mortgage and how it seemed like a far off dream not conceivably possible, nor is it really now in central London but it's something we're striving towards in the next 2-3 years which means we're all grown up, even though Chris did manage to pull off a homicidal hangover on Sunday where he couldn't stop being ill.

Point two. My grandmother died on Saturday night (afternoon Canada time). I guess I'm more in shock than anything else which makes no sense at all because she had been very ill for the past three months but she was a medical marvel having smoked for over 60 years and was cancer-free her entire life. She wasn't a typical granny either which is I think a bit awkward to explain because she was so stubborn and opinionated on absolutely not factual merit, which I know is a testament to the elderly however she was Danish and when explanations would transition in and out of Danish, it made her ramblings about my hair being in my eyes meaning that I'll be blind when I'm 40 (same for those wearing contact lenses) for example simply endearing. It was a long standing joke in my family that she would outlive us all, similar to that of let's say a Keith Richards.

Anyway the moral of the story is that I thought I would go home for a week but there is only going to be a visitation and then a memorial in September for her birthday when I'm home for a holiday. My mother is ok which is the most important thing. And really that's that.

There's more but I think I'll leave it at this. And that.

day off

2010-02-05T11:41:00.002Z

I wouldn't pigeonhole myself to suggest that I am a control freak however having one solitary day off makes me panic just a bit. I'm mainly terrified that I haven't done something and it's going to come to light and I always have to bee three steps ahead.

But in much happier news, it was Chris' birthday yesterday and because he completely failed on mine, I had to have this amazing day for him (basically mind games to make him feel guilty for being such a shit, but not really because I honestly don't care, that much). So he was loaded with gifts, and I bought him this amazing card and his work mates and our friends came along for drinks last evening, and we booked today, have dinner reservations at a new incredible restaurant in Shoreditch but as I tiny jab to his day of splendor, I'm dragging him to Ikea to buy wicker baskets and other stuff. He's currently fast asleep, or could be awake but refusing to get out of bed because he knows the trip is imminent.

But please, I rarely pull the bitchy wife card but feel that I've earned it this time round. Now buck up and wake up please. I need tea and breakfast.

baby

2010-01-17T22:53:00.003Z

Let's face it, I'm broody. It's time for me to have a baby (yes, but not really...). This week's obsession is bearing child and eventually rearing it. I'm so awful that I am stare and awe at parents morning and evening on the bus ride home, listening out for names, parenting methodology, colour of teeny tiny wellies on their feet, envious of their buggies and blankeys. I really hope these parents don't think I want to seal their children. Most of vilely misbehaved, jumping up and down on the seats and I sit on tender hooks half-expecting them to chip their baby teeth. Either the parent gets angry then ties them back down in their pram or just let's them carry on with ruckus. I try to resolve the situation in my mind, if it was my child. I know this is me passing severe judgment on a scenario I know absolutely nothing about, but this isn't logical, it's astutely hormonal. And I'm not even the worst girl I know.

What's brought this on the most is I haven't had a drink since New Year's which is both a crowning achievement and sad admission. But it's bringing a whole new clarity, such as I really love my husband. Barf. He's equally funny sober as he is when I've had a half a bottle of wine. Am I painting a portrait of being an eventual good parent? Please may I remind you that I'm 25 and was a child bride? No, Chris is a good egg and always has been. And I have never not loved him. Why do I feel like this is a loaded post? I'm not implying anything by this, it all curtails into my broodiness.

We were on a train to Birmingham this weekend to celebrate his grandfather's 90th birthday and this dreadful older couple sat in front of us and it was so clear they hated each other. I think it mainly had to do with wife's squawky voice. When we got off the train, we promised to never ever be like that. I don't squawk to the best of my knowledge but Chris promised to call me out on that shit. Why would you want to beat your husband into such severe submission?

I guess I'm both broody and terrified.

happy back to work

2010-01-09T11:43:00.002Z

I love when you start something new and fresh and it seems amazing and really exciting! This could be my childish excitement, I remember summer between grade 7 & 8 and feeling desperate to get back to school because I wanted to graduate then go to high school. I think that's a bit how I feel now. Career being put on hold for over a year and now everything is back on track. And I make no qualms about this: I am going to be amazing. I feel as though I'm entitled to say that because my confidence has been knocked back 5-fold this past year. Plus it's one facet of my life that I can't be positive about, always have to be self-deprecating and sarcastic. But yes, in my naive excitement and joy to be back at work in my new role, I have been given great project that I'm actually looking forward to working on over the next few months.

Granted we have mapped out our holidays for the year, all built around the World Cup which England will presumably lose and I'll have to deal with Mr Grumps for weeks but I'm hoping to come back to Canada either May or September. Haven't been home since September 2008. It doesn't feel as though it's been that long considering it's currently -2 outside today in London however I haven't seen my dad since September and my mum since October 2008 for our wedding. Jew guilt washes over me constantly but my mother is my number one fan so I know she's fine with me being here and living out the life that I set out. My dad on the other hand is becoming more and more difficult with each conversation. I spoke with him on Christmas day and got off the telephone so perturbed. I think his transition into golden years is going to be grossly controversial.

In others new, my bank statement just came through the door and I'm not terrified to look at it.

happy new year

2009-12-29T21:53:00.003Z

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.

Snippets

2009-12-18T18:36:00.002Z

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.

hectic humbug

2009-12-17T20:47:00.003Z

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.

100 2000

2009-11-29T11:05:00.002Z

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.

bit more fun

2009-11-13T11:39:00.002Z

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.

fun at first but then it gets a bit sad

2009-10-15T23:44:00.003+01:00

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.

plaits

2009-10-06T21:45:00.002+01:00

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.

cherie

2009-09-25T20:03:00.005+01:00

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.

bricks

2009-08-29T10:53:00.002+01:00

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:

medium

2009-08-21T12:25:00.002+01:00

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.

tit

2009-08-06T20:16:00.004+01:00

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.

diva

2009-07-08T10:38:00.002+01:00

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.

riot gurrrl

2009-07-06T12:08:00.004+01:00

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.

liver-pule

2009-06-22T13:29:00.002+01:00

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.

i am having a bad week

2009-06-10T15:14:00.002+01:00

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.

from the past few weeks

2009-06-04T15:19:00.005+01:00

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.

I tried to bake last night

2009-05-27T12:49:00.002+01:00

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.

v.low profile

2009-05-19T18:22:00.002+01:00

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.

I am afraid of the dark

2009-05-11T12:55:00.002+01:00

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.

happy development

2009-05-08T17:02:00.002+01:00

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.

I could shower and get ready for a party...

2009-05-02T19:46:00.003+01:00

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.

tears of a clown

2009-04-29T16:09:00.002+01:00

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.

more differences between him and me

2009-04-24T14:16:00.002+01:00

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.

automatique

2009-04-20T12:11:00.002+01:00

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.

fail

2009-04-14T20:28:00.002+01:00

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.

water

2009-04-13T11:36:00.003+01:00

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'm pausing from going out now

2009-04-06T11:36:00.003+01:00

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.

me want food

2009-04-03T12:25:00.002+01:00

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.

see bellow

2009-03-31T00:22:00.001+01:00

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.

Spotify to find yourself

2009-03-31T00:03:00.003+01:00

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.

oh dear me

2009-03-27T14:33:00.002Z

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.

lad

2009-03-25T10:55:00.004Z

So succinct. Too good.

ew

2009-03-23T11:37:00.002Z

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.

sisters before misters

2009-03-17T16:21:00.003Z

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?

official

2009-03-11T14:08:00.002Z

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!

cold war

2009-03-09T13:44:00.002Z

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?

here are a few things I want to change

2009-03-04T12:43:00.004Z

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?

hot, loquacious

2009-03-02T22:37:00.002Z

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.

way good

2009-02-25T13:41:00.002Z

I'm not a snuggly sleeper, I just can't fall asleep feeling someone else's breathing (it messes up my rhythm). Chris is always so clingy and I usually just quick him away, unless it's a freezing cold night and I huddle up close to him as I managed to blow the fuse on our bedroom's heater (yay for non-central heating).

So basically yesterday morning, I must have been cold or in some sort of deep sleep (because those are the only two viable explanations for this sort of phenomenon) because I was mid dream and woke up to Chris shuffling about and me spooning him. How strange. But further more, he woke me up from the best dream.

I'm not entirely sure how I got there, but I was in Chicago and I was flirting with Obama. We were walking arm in arm and I kept flirtatiously joking with him, giggling "oh Mr. President" and he was eating it right up. And then we got back to his hotel and my sister was there, and we were making him tell us stories of how he used to smoke pot. We kept insisting that we wouldn't tell anyone that we're "nice girls". Then he made me tell him the story of the first time I did, and I was about to lay into the story about how my parents are hippies (not true by the way) but Chris starting squirming and I woke up.

I did wake up all giddy and nervous and Chris called me a homewrecker.

This is the extent of my life right now.

i feel good

2009-02-23T14:08:00.002Z

the Oscars aren't wildly watched here because they don't start until 1am, and they're on SkyMovies which is insanely expensive to subscribe to, but Chris being resourceful managed to stream it online to ABC in San Diego. So I have this weird thing now where I can't watch American or even Canadian news because it seems as though they're being ironic. It's just so sensational in comparison to the way British news is presented and now I can no longer take it seriously. This extends to American commercials as well. They're just so flashy and loud with wild graphics. (Not that British adverts are any better i.e. "I am going to do a poo at Paul's).

But wow- during the Oscars last night, America come good. There were so many great commercials reflecting the times perfectly and using topical buzzwords etc. I really liked that it was all about community and pushing weight together, and that when you buy McDonalds, you're not just consuming but supporting college bursaries. I even cried during the Mastercard advert with Badger the Dog trying to find his way home. Wow- a post Obama America.

jetstream

2009-02-22T18:56:00.002Z

yes yes yes! Warm weekend in London. And by warm I mean it was 13 yesterday and sunny which all things considered, is warm. I forced Chris out of the flat, to the market and past. Lovely little walk through London Fields where, in true British fashion, if there's any extreme of weather- be it cold and snowy or warm and bright people go mental. And so it was. We sat on a bench judging people's clothes and dogs.

My day to day happenings haven't been particularly interesting, not even remotely. I guess the only strange thing is that Chris has this new habit of dropping prepared food on the floor. He dropped his half bagel earlier this morning, dropped loads of spinach last night, and apparently a few nights ago when I was out, he dropped a chicken breast. I promise he threw everything out after he did so, but because he's such a moody bastard and because this is becoming increasingly worrisome, I had to listen to him kvetch this morning about how he keeps doing it and how annoying it is. I told him it's more annoying to listen to him complain.

But I'm guessing now it's more annoying reading me write how it's annoying to listen to him being annoyed at dropped bagels. Yup. This is dull. But things are heating up.

shit

2009-02-16T20:00:00.003Z

Last night we went to see the Black Lips with Jonas, Pippa and Derry. All this weekend I've been telling Chris that I am going to make Jonas my life coach. He constantly makes good life choices, is so extremely clever, and is cavalier, but courteous. Plus he's dating one of the greatest girls therefore is a super person all round. But in doing so, he told me that I had to get Twitter, basically stating that it's a good platform to find jobs.

So Chris and I joined about 2 hours ago. I was immediately against Twitter when it was brought to my attention last year. Yes I blog which is ultimately self involved nonsense, however updating people throughout the day on what I'm doing or thinking, or being akin to Stephen Fy tweeting being stuck in an elevator just makes me feel awkward all over.

Ok but that was then (from 6 months ago up until 2 hours ago). Now I am on Twitter and it's essentially amazing! Self indulgent- very much so, but I think I would rather use it to lurk others out as opposed for my own tweeting benefit (ultimately against Jonas' suggestions but I'm taking baby steps broadcasting my mundane normalities to the masses).

Honestly, internet renaissance. Terrifying that we no longer have the attention span to scour through things written at length, but fuck em'.

Last night at Black Lips the five of us discussed our ideal song lengths (minutes.seconds). Derry's being 2.30, Jonas' 2.45, Pippa's, 2.45, mine being 3.15 and Chris' being 3.40. None of us have the attention span for anything over 4 minutes. I can't help but feel that we're forging ahead into a 3 minute Generation. Short and Sweet.

obviously!

2009-02-12T18:17:00.003Z

I think I took advantage of being quite acute when I was 18. I did things and didn't realize just how beneficial they were. A couple for instances: showering everyday, writing all the time, studying to classical music (and then sometimes to Frank Sinatra and Louis Prima). Seriously what hadn't I thought of that sooner: writing with classical music on?

So I did last night and my mind became this perfect streamline, perfect little meditations formed into phrases. So I'm on 18,000 words now but I'm holding this particular piece close to my chest. Chris has seen parts and I've discussed it briefly with a few people but no one will see it before it's definitively manicured.

Also, I'm starting another blog with musings on better things than my life. I mean (obviously) I discuss life's little abstracts and put them into a pragmatic sense of "greater picture" blah blah blah but I want something I can put on my CV that's more writerly. Again not that this isn't because this blog is a great aid (not only do I develop a lot of ideas through here but I'm also have conversations with friends across the world via blog, definitely way better than Facebook).

It's just this is about as personal as I'm willing to become in public. And I also use the word Fuck.

And I need to start spellchecking before I post. I make a lot of mistakes you know. But those little quirks will remain here, but I'll put a link to the polished version of my streamlined self once I do an entry or two tonight.

and now for something completely different

2009-02-09T22:12:00.002Z

Obvious differences between Canada and the UK. Here is an example that makes Chris and I laugh each time it's on.

My friend Pippa who knows everything about UK pop culture has been in Paris for the past month and hasn't seen the Glade advert. I was trying to explain it to her at a party on Saturday night. She was horrified and said she hadn't seen it yet.

I feel sorry for the boy who will grow up and be the kid who said 'poo' on tv...repeatedly.

Also at this party, we stood around for a bit discussing Jade Goody and her current struggle with cancer. For those not in the know, she's a reality tv star here who is right now quite ill and was rushed to hospital late last week for an emergency operation. But what makes this quite interesting is that she is enduring this all whilst being filmed. And while I think the woman is quite annoying, she obviously doesn't deserve this to happen to her. And she made me cry when she was talking about her boys and never seeing them grow into men.

And then someone at the party thought Jade Goody- the Autopsy; and the idea that surely someone has pitched. And that's just bloody morbid.

please don't take this the wrong way

2009-02-07T17:44:00.002Z

No matter how much I attest to this, I'm sure I'm going to sound very arrogant even discussing this, let alone typing it (clearly it went into a further thought process than just discussing).

I've just been sitting around, reading the Saturday paper, which had a profile on a literary agent, who signed a writer because he wrote a great covering letter. I started asking Chris this questions whether it would be appropriate to mention in the letter that I would be quite marketable (as a woman, immigrant, 24 year old, dimpled). Chris response was definitely, publishing houses always want to hear that an author wants to engage with the media, being sexy certainly helps. That was his response.

I don't want this to sound shocking, but my husband thinks I'm sexy? This isn't ironic, or meant to be taken the wrong way, but it made me turn bright red. Sexy isn't exactly a word that's in my personal lexicon, well only sarcastically. I then had to hide behind the paper and ask him if I was being sexy right now and he replied yes. Then if he thought so when I first met him and he completely lit up. I know, I sound like a turbo idiot writing this down, let alone thinking about it (I'm sure my face deserves to melt) but seriously, in your mind, when you think you're simply projecting in image of a shy, awkward girl when obviously, it's not what's being reflected back at you.

One massive positive, I don't walk around 'tits out', so at least Chris' opinion on female sexiness isn't essentialised. Why is this such an uncomfortable topic? I'm typing with a cringe face, antithesis of sexyface assumably.

blow

2009-02-01T22:37:00.004Z

So there's a snow storm blowing through central London currently. Apparently it came from Siberia. Apparently I'm not happy. Whilst I've been rather smug with the weather my Canadian counterparts are experiencing, we've had it rather easy here with just a few blisteringly cold days. Evidently, tonight is payback.

And everyone in this country goes absolutely mental for the snow. Last year it didn't snow at all, the year before that only once. This is an experience I haven't had in years (now) and one that I haven't had with Chris. He already shoved some snow down my collar (I threatened divorce- seriously not cool-no pun intended).

Oh wow. Good luck London and the commute tomorrow morning.

So the Superbowl is starting and Chris has decided to take up yet another sport to watch. Essentially I can't watch a superbowl without a pizza so we just went for a walk and took some photos. The pubs were just getting out and a massive snowball fight started down the market. We were too afraid to get any closer.

pop culture's clover

2009-01-29T14:18:00.003Z

So I think my luck is about to change.

On Tuesday night, I went to a launch party my old work was holding for Nokia. Lady Gaga was set to DJ (but don't even get me started on her...nor Chris. For someone claiming to be so pure, she's pretty manufactured) but anyway...so we're there and it's very fun. Paris Hilton breezes in with a hundred photographers and poses and stuff. We're just still on the dancefloor, not so phased. Then she cruises past Chris and I. Stays there hovering whilst people are chasing her from different angles and she pivots, and as she does, I kid not, her arm kept rubbing against my boob. She must have rubbed it about 3 times. So obviously this becomes the huge joke of the night.

But I'm now thinking, maybe it's like rubbing the Buddha's belly, that Paris rubbing my breast will bring me some good luck.

this made me laugh as well:

2009-01-25T16:36:00.002Z

I just had a break in the ladies room then came back into our lounge. And I started singing along to Battle of Who Could Care Less, where Chris looked up from his computer and said:

Blanket
PJS
Sofa
Computes
Spotify
Wiki

You're in your happy place aren't you? I think that epitomizes today. And or my life (minus the PJs).

i wish i was born in 1992

2009-01-25T16:17:00.002Z

Just another lazy Sunday.

Being in Britain, and being with someone exceptionally cynical has sort of forced me into this anti-happy-go-lucky kind of bird, however things are coming up rosey again.

How great is Spotify? It's an online music streamer, and I just play free association all day long. I don't know how today started bit it lead me from Buzzcocks, to Roy Orbison, somewhere down the line to Yes, to Jethro Tull, to Elvis Costello and now Ben Folds who I haven't listened to in a few years because his royal highness doesn't like it. Well also because Army was played every Friday at Red Square and I think I maxed out. Oh well. Boo hiss to Chris, I'm keeping my music categorical now.

This was essentially the basis of all conversations on Friday night. Chris and I went out with Jonas to this pop punk pub night in Shoreditch however it was rammed full with 17 year olds and we were some of the only people there born before 1990 so we left soon there after. Theoretically, that night could have been amazing. But getting lost in the streets of EC1 with Jonas and his print-out Google map was equally as fun (and or funny). Basically Jonas and I were having a love-in on Spotify and Last.fm. Linking and listing is very exciting points of conversation for me. And yes, it's another 17 year old moment to speak so extensively about music whilst you're drinking a £4.60 pint of Hoegarden.

And then of course we ended up at the Birdcage until 3am. Chris and I just had a giggle. I made him text 118118 to see where Robert Pattinson was in London. They texted back saying: Sorry no info.

I'm pretty sure this is only funny to me. That and Chris managing to spill red wine all over my sweater from gesticulating, and then spilling beer all over my jacket later that evening,at a separate location, under different circumstances.

wisps

2009-01-23T14:36:00.002Z

It's one of those days where I'm distracted by things around me instead of remaining introverted. The fourth wall of our flat is entirely made up of windows, and we're right on the canal so there's a constant flurry of action. I've been staring at a red delivery van for about 10 minutes and thought of a great idea for a short story, because the driver is kind of freaking me out. Mine and Chris' favourite dog walked past. He looks like a smoky black gorilla. It's been raining, then really sunny, then really rainy again. One of those days. I'm so desperate to see our favourite van which I've dubbed Billy Van.

It's something you would probably only see in Europe, but it's teeny-tiny and has grass growing on its roof. Then there's Michel Gondry van, called that because it's grey metal sides look like perforated cardboard. That's just a little bit about my neighbourhood. Parcel van guy is still there, but it looks like he's eating.

Chris and I caught ourselves looking out the window all the time like little old ladies spying on their community, commenting on the misgivings. However last night, floating in the canal was a mattress so I don't think we're doing a disservice to anyone really. I think the mattress has floated away today.

I'm chugging down green teas just to stay awake these days.

paper and pencil

2009-01-19T19:32:00.002Z

Today I was doodling.

Well to be honest, I am a printer. I hate my cursive handwriting and have always printed, it's curvy print mind. Today however I was drawing a beach scene when I thought about trying to write my new last name which I haven't officially taken yet as a double-barrel and I'm not sure if I'm really going to.

So anyway, Branson really writes nicely. It's quite loopy. So I started to try to do my name, with a hyphen Branson. Not the same illusion as my swiggly signature however with time perhaps it could look nice. And this lead to write my mum's name, who, let me preface by saying, has the nicest handwriting.

As a girl, we've all sat in our parent's bedroom, when mum is putting on make up and getting ready to go out. And watching her getting all dolled up makes you envious that you're only 6 and can't even play in the back garden without permission. Well take that and apply it to watching your mother write. I find it so therapeutic to see you her sign a credit card receipt (more so if she bought me something good!) or watching her construct grocery lists. I'm not sure of the household you were brought up in, but in mine, we're all desperate to please our parents, to emulate them, to be their little perfect mirrored creatures. Usually it's the parents who want their children to be like theirs, but at our house, we all want to be our parents. So I'm envious that my mother has such stylish handwriting, such a feminine signature.

And today, I could finally forge it.

blog

2009-01-14T11:54:00.002Z

a self-referential entry. Similar to being in grade school when you have your first public-speaking contest and you don't know what to write your speech on, so your teacher tells you to write one on speeches.

Last night after trolling around here and facebook, I've found about 5 other friend's blogs- all girls. Quite strange for me because the ratio of male to female friends is very high so I don't know why none of my male counterparts aren't writing things down.

But it's a nice little community of girls, where we all write about dreamy things like books, music, jobs and our ambitions for travel. My friend Kayla has made a list of every book she' ever read, without her maybe even knowing that I've read her blog and that list.

It's tidy girl world here which is a nice break from the pseudo-machismo I'm surrounded with on a daily basis. Sometimes I just don't give a shit if Aston Villa lose, and to be honest, I think I know way too much about Premier League football because Chris is constantly sneaking it into conversation, like he does with his socks and underwear when I do my laundry. And I find myself making comments back about things. And we're watching Dexter season 3 and one of the characters looks like player from the league and I made the reference myself.

So maybe this is positive way to shuffle my somewhat homesickness. To read about my girl friends charming existences because in actual fact, that's what I want too. Geography has nothing to do with it, maybe it's about me trying to attain all these paramount goals of career, life and book lists.

then God is 7

2009-01-11T23:40:00.002Z

I wrote and subsequently deleted a post earlier this evening.

I just feel really selfish and am homesick for the first time in over two years.

Just your resident crazy girl in East London.

high concept

2009-01-06T23:23:00.004Z

I think television has been very good lately. The movies that are being played that is. A few nights ago, What Women Want staring Mel Gibson, before the anti-semitic hate tirade. Chris, who I forced to sit down a watch with me, actually quite enjoyed it. As did I. He turned to me and said: "So do you think this is high concept done right?". I know that he secretly enjoyed the movie because he didn't make any sassy comments about the ridiculousness of it all. And really why should he?

Romantic comedies are one of my greatest vices. It's not even a 'they're so bad they're good'. They're just generally good. And I loved to be entertained.

Sunday night: 8pm. I am very excited because "Look Who's Talking" is on. One thing I miss from home is TBS showing movies all day Saturday and Sunday and I do have fond memories of this film. For instance, I can't hear the Beach Boys 'Get Around' without thinking about the opening scene (you know, the one with the sperm...). That is actually quite morbid, I can't believe my parents let me watch that when I was what, 5, 6 maybe? And I can't believe they ever let me listen to the Beach Boys after that too.

And even though Chris wasn't actively watching, I could see him chuckling behind the computer screen. Yet another example of 'high concept, done right'.

I'm living in my own high concept inner monologue (and no it's not a little voice inside my head!). I writing now quite intensely and am having quite deep thoughts right before I fall asleep but instead of just getting up, I'm falling asleep and forgetting what I wanted to say. I'm sort of breaking my own heart here.

after I found my way

2009-01-04T19:34:00.006Z

The jumping at the end was merely Chris and I bored, waiting for 25 minutes for a train to arrive at Euston. Why did get off at Euston if we were going to Old St? ...(5 minutes passes)... Right, yet another interchange. Bank branch.

my 2009

2009-01-02T14:49:00.002Z

At first I wasn't entirely sure how great the evening would be. When at Camden Town, Chris and I had to make a break for it to get off the tube because the rear doors didn't open (have never been on a train when that has happened before). Amazingly enough, Chris managed to squeeze past the Italian tourists and their massive suitcases, however me and my head weren't so lucky as the door closed. So after miming to Chris to "stay there, I'll come back", I headed to Kentish Town with another passenger who experienced the same fate. So we both changed and rode back south to Camden. So off the train I get but now fearing that Chris is waiting on the platform. So I head back down to the North Platform, Morden branch (Northern line branches in two ways for those who don't know. Sometimes, I don't know either...) so it's crowded, he's not there. So I'm running through the station now back to South platform, Bank branch, not there. South platform, Charing Cross branch, not there either. I'v been in the station for about 15 minutes scooting around predicting that Chris and I won't find each other until about 10 seconds before the new year making it both wildly romantic and an anti-climax (I had partially given into the idea that I would be spending the rest of my life in the station). So I start to ascend to the exit just praying that Chris has as well so at the very least we have reception and can phone each other. I must point out that I'm not panic stricken, I think it's all quite funny. So I exist and have the usual suspects asking if I want to buy skunk or go to some raver's new year's eve thingy. Chris is not at the exit. Oh grand. I check my phone and see he called twice which is a positive sign that he's not in the station and see that Pippa had texted me as well thinking it was funny that I got stuck on the train.

And then there he is. The boy who let a train door close on my head. His first words "fucking tourists".

my 2008

2008-12-31T12:51:00.002Z

Chris and I have been back in Birmingham at his parents house. It drove us both a bit mad to be there for a week (bless his parents, they're truly lovely!) but it made me realise the vast differences in the way Chris and I were brought up and the way it's affected our behaviour now. Where Chris is very tolerant of his parents bumbling and constant chit chat (as he puts it "mortally terrified of offending his mother, she's very sensitive") I would have told my parents to both shut up by the second day. Like I've put before, it's not supposed to be nasty but rather endearing.

So this is my year coming to an end. And being at Chris' parents and growing further and further into desperation, longing for my own 'personal time', I sat in bed writing about my year while Chris was being annoying downstairs.

So the obvious afflictions (some not really), meaning that I could talk about getting married but to be honest, I was trying to remember what song we played after we got married, and I can't for my life think of what it was. But really, the song that made this most impact this year had to be "Low" by Flo Rida. I think it's the perfect example of when irony turns into reality. Here is my brief history of the song:

January/February: This annoying song keeps being played on the radio, at least it's intermittently. Still, I am aggravated whenever I hear it. It's not charming whatsoever.

March: Chris and I are driving to Wales and are listening to the radio. We hear the song about 4 times on the 3 hour drive. It's very annoying and we ate it.

April: On the way home from Wales, we stop in a rest stop and see this little Welsh thug like children singing along to the song on their mobile. Equally if not more annoying.

May/June: one of the girls I used to work with loved the song and demanded the radio be turned up whenever it was played at work. It was usually played around 3 times a day on the same radio station.

June/July: Step Up 2 (the Streets) preview is played on television featuring that song. Because I am now unemployed I see it very regularly.

September: Chris and I in Canada. The song is starting to grow on us. We enjoy watching the video and I explain the tattoo on Flo Rida's back being the shape of Florida on its side, to look like a gun. We start dissecting the song. Chris thinks parts sound like UK garage, I like the part where he says: Turned around and gave that big booty a slap whoah!

October (or there about): We read this Facebook profile which lists 'Low' as the best song ever. We began agreeing.

November/December: Condone whenever the song is played on the radio. We heard it driving through Birmingham earlier this week and turned it up and car danced along.

I wonder what 2009 has in store? Maybe my dignity, good taste in music (again).

troubling times for ladies

2008-12-20T15:03:00.002Z

Last night I stupidly watched this show on BBC4 called WAG Wannabe. It was 1am and Chris and I had just finished Scarface (I'm still recovering from the flu so a lazy Friday night in isn't completely out of the question). Maybe I was all riled up from that but I just lost it on Chris whilst watching a show about women going to clubs, expecting footballers to buy them free champagne and they just think they have to laugh at their jokes in return, and then eventually they'll get married.

In the light of day, I don't really care anymore. But last night, as my over-educated husband and myself were getting ready for bed, me washing my face with $60 YSL face wash and poor Chris using the last vestiges of our £3 toothpaste I was fired up. And I just spouting "I hate girls" with thin exfoliator rubbed into my face. I went to bed so annoyed (mostly because I'm still all stuffed up, I couldn't come up with a convincingly great argument, just a typical one). This morning however, I feel a bit better about our species- that being girls of course.

A few weeks ago, I went out for dinner with my friend Suzy. She's very bright, so driven and extremely determined. She just finished her second architecture degree and with working in London in the 'building sector', keeping your job during this recession is fundamental. She had been a bit down because of her work situation, with everything being up in the air and all, and I of course have been a self-involved, self-righteous tit for the latter half of this year so together, we're great! But in all actuality, we were. We spent about 20 minutes griping about our lives but then spent another 2 1/2 hours saying nice things to each other and being supportive, which shock horror! was really nice. It may have been the many cocktails and bottle and half of wine we shared but I never realised how nice it is to truly believe and say nice, supportive things to someone. To tell Suzy that I do think she is one of the most focused, driven people I've ever met was a good thing, not only for her, but for me too. And for her to say nice, great things to me was really uplifting and gave me a nice little confidence boaster.

I'm sure this sounds all very hokey but for girls who spend a better portion of our time gossiping, complaining, griping about other people and ourselves, it's important to hear good things another girl thinks about you. I'm making it a new rule in 2009 to say positive things about my friends, to my friends.

Say later that night, Suzy went back to her house, had a Bailey's and discussed our bodies and all the physiological changes happening with age (this is because we went out for dinner to celebrate my birthday, I'm glad we just celebrated each other). Suzy's final suggestion to me was to buy a bigger bra. This is what good friends are for.

I just didn't feel like it ok?

2008-12-18T18:46:00.002Z

I turned 24 on Tuesday. It was anti-climatic.

One resolution however is that my immigration woes are all sorted now for the next two years. Unless Chris and I divorce, I'll have full settlement then and be smooth sailing for life.

But why would I divorce such a hilarious creature? I didn't realise how astutely perfect Chris was for me. Not just as some lover but as some x factor entertainment. How did I find someone so unaware of his own ridiculous behaviour. Maybe it's my family and how we're now all conditioned to laugh at people when they say things strangely. This is what we do. I'm usually the butt of all jokes in the household because I feign enthusiasm and politeness quite well which evidently is subject to ridicule. Sometimes however my brother can say bonhead things too.

But Chris. All of last week was coming out with these zingers that were making me hysterical. By virtuous wonder (and constant repetition), I've been able to remember a few. Let me set the scene first:

We have been back at Chris' parents house just outside of Birmingham for a few days now:

me: what do you want to do?
Chris: I don't know, want to play a game?
me: Ok. Do you have a deck of cards, we could play poker?
Chris: Yeah but we have nothing to play for.
me: We could play strip poker?
Chris: Or we could get my mum's box of buttons!!

a few days after that:

Chris: So I was thinking, there must be a website that has new trivial pursuit questions on them. I saw I look them up, print off a few American questions for you, British questions for me, get my parents in on it too and have a game on the ol' board?

and a few days after that:

me: I'm going a bit stir crazy
Chris: Well I could drop you off somewhere
me: But I don't know how to get back here
Chris: well just give me a ding dong and I'll come and pick you right up

Maybe it was delirium or maybe it was cabin fever. Or maybe it's because Chris is the driest, moody least enthusiastic person and to hear any sort of child like excitement from him really tickles me. Or maybe because if I had said any of the previous things in front of my family I would have been shunned and excommunicated and most likely would have preferred it that way because my sisters and brother never stop laughing. We're not mean, and I'm not either. It's endearing.

fabulous muscles*

2008-12-04T19:05:00.002Z

*or mussels

I ran into my friend Suzy a few nights ago in Clerkenwell when we were both grabbing a drink and then decided to ditch our friends and go out to dinner. It wasn't so much a meal, rather a show and tell of public neuroses. Mine, for instance, and this one actually stems directly from my mother, is that I cannot have my back turned to a doorway or an open space. I have to sit strategically against a wall or with my back to another patron but never, ever, an open space. Chris is well aware of this and frankly, handled the situation quite cleverly. This however was news to Suzy and we had to change tables because whilst I wouldn't be sitting with my back towards the open, she can't sit beside columns or walls. She's an architect so virtually all buildings in London fall under 'badly designed' in her eyes. Essentially we were quite a pair that evening and when we finally got round to dinner, she was seated next to a large metal column, however that was alright because it didn't reverberate sound. Try the mussels at SOS in Clerkenwell, they're fantastic.

And I think I've over come my inner frustrations about writing and have actually utilised them to better myself and the situation. I had an insanely honest conversation with Chris were I spilled the beans on my preoccupation with his 'tour de force' altruistic yet objection criticism (purely hypothetical, he's barely seen anything yet). Writing is my thing. Reading and critiquing is his. And when you're exposing and reeling, and not in this tra la la way, it can hinder confidence. But we've mapped it all out now, both figuratively and literally so we're back on track. Mind akimbo.

grievances

2008-11-28T13:54:00.002Z

This may be a bit ironic, or perhaps wise. I'm trying to write a novel and I have all the alchemy in my head but when I put it down, it sounds so snarky and really concise, which obviously...isn't my style. And I hate the way it looks and more so, the way it sounds. I have the ideas in my head, it's been brewing for ages and I did start something earlier this month, but I can't stand it now. I'm not sure if I've lit it on fire now, if I'm being far too cerebral, if I'm so conscious of what I'm doing it sounds so nasty and so forced.

For starters, I'm a fast typist. Secondly, I'm a very fast writer. My fingers can think faster that my mind sometimes making the whole writing process a breeze. I had no problems in university writing papers the day before they were due, even 5000 word essays because I find it easy to clear my mind and think streamlined. I used to constantly write short stories when I was younger. From the time we had our first computer up until the end of highschool, I was constantly writing short stories that my parents would read. My final project in OAC drama was to write a play, and did. And it was performed in front of the school and family.

And even blogging, I use this as a tool to harness ideas and it helps me write concise anecdotes whether they're meaningful or not. And I have a written journal, that's used to mostly wax lyrical about my great life, something I wouldn't ever want anyone to read. Those methods have proved highly successful for me.

Why am I failing at this? I was talking to Chris about this the other night that I'm so intimidated by this criticism because he works in publishing and knows the inner frameworks of what is deemed successful. Not that I'm thriving on being that but knowing what Chris knows and letting him edit my work makes me not want to write anything. Which is maybe some sort of subconscious block on my abilities. He reads my blogs and for some reason I have no problem with that, full restitution.

My fingers are tapping out a beat on the keyboard, without pushing down on the buttons. Something else I do when I'm concentrating maybe too hard. Which I think I am. Doing it again. I think this is how sexual frustration must feel for a teenage boy. Knowing that should be able to do something, probably quite well, but you have to keep practicing on your own.

werewolves

2008-11-27T11:39:00.002Z

Yesterday was passed just splendidly. Old episodes of the OC on dvd, warm lunch, yoga, all the makings of tranquility. Wednesday is usually my counterproductive day then Thursday I clean up the mess that I've made and feel better about doing nothing the day before. I was very mellowed out.

Took the bus into Angel and met Chris for an early showing of Choke and Mucho Mas. We had an array of sweeties and laughed at inappropriate lines in the film (that you are supposed to laugh at but I think everyone in the cinema didn't feel it was right, and at some points, we were the only two laughing, which makes it feel illicit but you know it's not). Still very calm, serene. We get back home and I call my sister. We laugh quite a bit, mostly at things about my brother. It's all very docile still.

Bed time. Chris and I laugh and this is usually the time that I torture him by making whiny noises (by torture, I mean just doing impressions of him...whining). Brushed teeth. Washed face. Still placid, but a little bit cold. We always read before bed and I'm currently reading Dork Whore by Iris Bahr. It's her travel memoir and it's quite funny however it does not invoke any crazy fantastical subconscious memos in my mind so just bare that thought.

Quietly we read, sometimes we read stuff out loud to each other that we find particularly funny. Then we hear all this roaring. Our bedroom is on the canal side of the flat towards the back and it sounds like it's coming from beside us and to the front. It's a bit alarming but Chris doesn't seem to think much of it. It's getting progressively louder now, more phlegmy, quite visceral. We look at each other a bit confused and Chris thinks it's someone watching tv, but my immediate reaction is tyrannosaurus rex. I'm rather tense now but Chris doesn't seem phased. It kind of stops, then starts again ever more loudly.

I'm thankful that we're in the flat but know that a t rex could easily break down our front door. And now the noises seem like they're all around us, and there are people now shouting and I am genuinely afraid. I remember after I saw Jurassic Park in cinema with my family, I dreamt a t rex was in our house and I lodged myself between two sofas. But I can still picture from my dream, looking up and seeing his big bite chomping down but unable to get me. This all comes flashing back.

We decide we need to investigate because its' been going on for over half an hour now and it's nearly 1am. So we go into the kitchen and open the window and hear all this shouting and nonsense. And we can see people across the road are standing on their balconies watching something happening in the distance. The angle is too sharp for us to see anything so Chris opens the front door and leans out. I yell for him to a)not get shot and b)not get eaten.

Yeah, it was just some super drunk guy, sitting on a wall, who was yelling at the police about how "he saw death" when was young. Roar.

chilly

2008-11-24T12:07:00.002Z

I am freezing. I am a warm person but I am freezing. This weekend dropped about 33 degrees. Early Friday evening, I met with Skye and went for wine and private club tapas (which, to be honest was only mini fish and chips and chips and chips) then Chris and I were supposed to go out with Pippa and Jonas however the gig we ordered tickets for, sold out before they could acquire. So Chris and I went alone. I'm not so much into new music as I am into discovering music that is new to me and I think Friday night was an excellent example of such.

I'm not snobby, pretentious, wankery (I hope) about music however I do feel strongly against the over-hype of something mediocre. We saw this band/chick named Little Boots which people keep banging on about. And not that she was bad, but each of her songs sounded like a disco song. It could have been the wine that made me hear things other than the way I'm supposed to hear them, but the first song they played sounded exactly like 'Ring my Bell'. I take grievance to the idea that someone could write that they're/she is so amazing when she sounds like a song from one of the most panned musical genres. I know my argument has serious holes but my feet are cold and I don't wish to dig deeper.

Yesterday, Chris and I had tickets to see Clinic, who I have never seen live before. I guess we were on some musical escapade this weekend because we rarely go to gigs any more, unless it's something really worth it. Anyway, so Clinic when they perform wear scrubs, doctors mask etc and because I hadn't seen them live, I wondered how they would sound singing through their masks which sparked this huge debate/argument with Chris and I about musicians who wear costumes/have stage personaes/use a shtick and whether when they record, should they wear their outfits or not. I don't want to get into the nitty gritty because before we had this argument, I said that I felt as a person that I'm "post-pretentious" and what we discussed, that really did carry on ALL DAY LONG makes me sound like a supertwat.

Anyway, so when Clinic perform, they cut slits in their doctor's masks so they can sing without the restraint. I thought it made them look like scary birds. Nonetheless, that was an excellent gig.

presumably

2008-11-18T21:36:00.002Z

I have this awful stomach ache right now. It's as if I drunk half a pint of bleach (I haven't
rest assured. How I feel is an assumption of how it would feel to drink half a pint of bleach).

I'm a bit confused as well because I hear the clock in our kitchen ticking, except the battery died last week. And no, rest assured, it's not the assumed sound of my typing that I think is the ticking.

Maybe I haven't been drinking bleach but rather, sniffing glue.

That's a falsity as well. But I did only eat half a salad this evening for dinner before feeling so full and sick to my stomach. Assumably, I'm getting Chris' flu.

wwwords

2008-11-17T11:40:00.005Z

Reorganise, revamp and never mention any boring bits again. This is my promise.

But I have now succumb to bare legs, house coat, Uggs (which I only wear inside, I have cold extremities, not that it does excuse that choice, but at the very least, they're not crocs), glasses, sloppy hair, cups of tea and tissues. It's a very lovely site indeed.

Yesterday, Chris and I were supposed to go to Argos except he wasn't feeling very well and it was pouring with rain. I've read our 7lbs in 7 days juice book and Jason Vale keeps banging on about mini trampolines and how NASA thinks it's the perfect form on exercise as you use nearly every muscle in your body. And I figure that jumping up and down is better than sitting on my ass so I thought we should get one. Chris of course, being so rational and/or a party pooper, thinks it's a bit silly. But I know he'll be jealous when I'm bouncing around and he's doing nothing. I've already set out rules that if he makes fun, he can't jump.

Regardless, I have never been to Argos and I'm a bit nervous about the protocol. So Chris explained it very clearly for me to understand. Essentially, it's the internet but in person. Here is a more detailed version of Chris' theory:

"So you walk in and there are tables with brochures on them. You search through and find what you need. Basically Argos was invented before the internet but it's the same principle. You look through pictures in these brochures and once you find what you're after, you write it down, bring it to the front desk and the people then call the men in the back who go through their warehouse and find it for you. You have to wait about 10 minutes but then they bring it out from the back for you".

Wisely put. But then I started thinking of the etymology of the word INTERNET. So I looked it up:

oh wait, there's still more to come

2008-11-15T12:45:00.002Z

Here's a friendly tip: profile your taxi driver before you get in his car.

Yesterday I received some shocking news about my marriage visa and another 3 hour interview and another £600 payment would need to be made. I went off the deep end a bit about it on the phone to Chris in the afternoon because I do feel like a second class citizen and am so tired of discussing my personal relationship with strangers in a formal matter. It's unnerving and feel it's demoralising considering I'm educated, speak the language am from the Common Wealth. Clearly I have a massive chip on my shoulder but it's been over 6 months of this shit and yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I was supposed to meet up with old friends from work yesterday earlier in the afternoon then head over to meet everyone else, presumably for dinner so I didn't eat before hand. A friend met me for a quick tea then we headed to Soho. Evidently dinner was not being had by all and I'm neurotic and can't really eat in front of people when they're not. So I ordered a beetroot tart (beetroot being a new super food that I'm fastly enjoying). Another friendly tip: Try not to drink so much wine when all you've eaten is a nouveau cuisine tart. Not too embarrassing to behold (fingers crossed) and it was great to see everyone from work again. So the evening comes to a close around 10.30 because people have other plans/are exhausted from a heavy work week.

So I plop myself in a taxi and for some reason I get all worked up about my immigration status and the credit crunch and start a friendly conversation with the taxi driver that turns into basically a shouting match. I don't know why but this has happened before (minus the shouting) that I'm picked up by a social conservative- probably a driver for the BNP. He starts yelling at me that I should either leave his country or "pay up and shut up". He was upset that Obama was elected as he doesn't trust blacks or Asians, and when we started discussing education, someone else felt that he had a chip on his shoulder as well. Even sitting in front of my flat we kept arguing (amazingly though, he had turned the meter off). I paid, went upstairs and told Chris then ate some chips.

As awful as it is to hear about someone's racial prejudices, especially from someone who has such an empty argument, it was a bit of an eye opener to myself that I need to chill out. Before coming to the UK I had never thought about immigration, I didn't even give race or religion a real second thought either because I was brought up accepting and acknowledging equality, judgement on character. Now being here and immersed in it, I realise and understand completely why so many people enter this country, enter Canada, enter the US or virtually any other western country illegally. It's an elitist system where money and class coexist. I was so hell bent on being Canadian, being Common Wealth that my right to live here and work here should be granted- but it's not really the case at all. It does have its advantage because I have to take an english literacy test but ultimately it's if you have the money to pay for each phase of acquiring a life here that counts. You have to pay for your visas, cannot recourse public funds however you can't work either when it's being processed so therefore you have to have money to live on essentially for 6 months.

In an age where education is ubiquitous and where we're shifting from being cash rich and time poor, it's interesting to field these questions. I'm so sick of ranting about this because I'm losing my point but my own social prejudices are being questioned and the idea that this is not equality for all is quite demeaning. I'm fortunate enough to have the funds to support myself and this stinky bureaucratic process and yes as a Canadian I feel that I have a certain entitlement to be here, living and working with my British husband however I'm sure there are many, plenty of others who aren't as lucky.

things I thought about before I could fall asleep

2008-11-12T11:59:00.005Z

Yesterday, being the first sunny day in London in about 5 days, I decided I would venture out to Upper st., to my favourite boutique on the top end. So I did a bit of shopping for the afternoon and met Chris about 6pm for Mucho Mas. So he's really tired at Mucho because he didn't sleep well last night. And I haven't been sleeping well all week because I'm lying next to 'snore face magee' as I like to tell him at 4am when he wakes me up.

I am a very deep sleeper but I promise you no hyperbole, it's like sleeping next to a snoring Dracula. Seriously, at 2.30am last night when I was trying to fall asleep and 'Count Snore Face Magee' was rattling around, I thought if Dracula snored, this is what it would sound like. Imagine Dracula coming for your neck, the sound of drooly, throatal noises he would make, that's my husband, the Count, asleep.

That's just to paint a pretty little picture for you. But you know when you're thinking about stuff during the day and when it comes to bedtime, you sometimes can't get it out of your head? So at Mucho Mas, we were talking about Chris publishing job and him being exceptional at grammar and how the Saw V sign on buses here is grammatically incorrect. And he wanted to pretend to be Daniel Radcliffe (not a far off bet since they look so similar) and call up Lionsgate Studio and pretend that Daniel was interested in doing a slasher film. I reminded him that Daniel would doubtfully be looking for his own projects, that his agent would be, and doubtful at that since I'm sure they come to him. Anyway so I made a comment that a horror film with Daniel Radcliffe could be called 'Harry Slaughter'.

And so it begins, at around 2.30 after trying to fall asleep for nearly an hour and a half, I start thinking of different takes on Harry Potter. This the mental list I devised with genres:

Harry Slaughter- horror
Harry Slutter- porno
Harry Shot Her- film noir
Harry Brought Her? - teen rom com
Harry Not Her- rom com
Harry's Daughter- coming of age

That's all I can remember for now. I think that little game however helped me fall asleep.

quick summary

2008-11-10T12:18:00.005Z

Here are things that have happened in the past week:

-DYSON! Our flat is spotless. Even still after 5 days. Impressive for us.
-Flash allergy attacks the day the dyson arrived. It was as if it knew I had reach the dust breaking point. I did erupt. I sneezed a
lot.
-Boutique shopping in the west end. I'm becoming fast friends with the girls and boy at Luella.
-Dim Sum on Friday night with Chris. He hesitated to meet me west because he assumed I would drag him shopping. I didn't. I
kept my promise and took him out to dinner. We over-ordered and ate way too much. I had to be rolled home.
-Late that night we watched the Orphanage. It scared the wits out of both of us. I wish I understood Spanish because when
shielding my face with a pillow, I couldn't read the subtitles. That night, whenever either of us had to go to the toilet, the other
had to wait outside. It's that scary.
-Saturday was house party with friends. I was told that I was the first married person somenoe had met at a house party. I don't
know if that was mildly insulting or not. Then some guy locked me in his bedroom. But my friend banged on the door and he
obliged and opened it. I stuck to the people that I knew after that. And realised that even being married, I can still get people's
numbers. Even if those people are girls and we want to be friends. Double dates a go-go.

Yesterday/Today. It won't stop raining in London. There is a sample sale at Reiss that I want to go to. I am afraid that if I go outside, I'll melt. I do have Pippa's umbrella which I may use (sorry and thanks Pippa at the same time, I know that you're close to Dotty). However it does look torrential out there.

D Day

2008-11-04T12:24:00.006Z

Last night I get a phone call from our friend Siddh who is hyper political, hilarious and tricked me into admitting something I hadn't even done. The reason he phoned was so we could watch the American election over at his flat. Apparently some other friends are going to be there as well. I love how this has turned into a sporting event. You can bet that I'm going to bring chips. And yes, whilst history is being made (fingers crossed!!!) I can't help but feel that tomorrow, my D Day is much more important than America's 'Decision Day'.

Wednesday, or Dyson Day as I'd like to call it from now on, will be glorious. I ordered a Dyson from Comet, top of the line, with the pivot ball. On Sunday, Chris and I went to Ikea and bought a few wardrobes and another book case along with loads of frames and vases and stuff so I have been doing my wifely duty of reorganising the flat whilst Chris puts things together (fuck you, you fucking fuck is what I hear coming from the other room at night now. It's hilarious!). Come tomorrow, our house will be allergen free, dust free, so clean, I'm so happy! This is bad though. Chris is now working full time while I stay at home and tend to the cleaning. But at least I'm making my own choice of being excited for a vacuum cleaner. I think that Chris is a bit more excited about the election. And this is why we work so well together.

it's a nice day to start again

2008-10-28T15:49:00.003Z

I don't know how to use our scanner otherwise I would post a few polaroids we took from our wedding day. It was charming, whimsical, effervescent, I'd hope a real crowd pleaser. I'm happy and Chris is happy so ultimately that's what matters most. That and I get to wear Tiffany's for the rest of my life. And we got a juicer as a gift and my husband has found his new calling.

Today I'm dress in head to toe black, turtle necks and black jeans. I think I just needed a break from the light and bright. And tomorrow I'm going to cut my hair.

The temperature in London has dropped hugely with the one plus being it's sunny and the other plus being it's not freezing yet. I think for the month of November I'm going to consume only juice. My detoxing is rubbish because I always cave and drink or eat three steaks in one week but in all seriousness I'm not going to consume any meat for November and try my darndest not to drink any booze. We have a juice and smoothies recipe book and I know that Chris proclamation of "from now on I'm only buying industrial amounts of fruit" means only a liquid diet. The amount of food I ate on Saturday is unreal. Last night we had pizza as a final hurrah but I honestly can't put anything else solid into my mouth. Well I did have left over pizza this afternoon for lunch but my stomach is so far expanded right now it's unreal.

One highly evident advance I've had biologically from marriage is these spots (or acne) I've had on my forehead as completely cleared up. I still get the odd spot on my face but I've never had any creep up on my forehead until about 6 months ago when it was really bad along my hair line and just simply red and irritated. I woke up on the wedding day and mosturised and when I came back into the bathroom to assess the situation, I noticed that it was completely clear. I think that area of the face is linked with stress so it could be that, or just the fear of dying alone maybe, or ultimately I'm now a grown up and had to grow out of it. Or that the British summer is over and my skin is immaculate in the winter. All of these theories are viable but I'm going with the 'til death do us part' stress relief that I hopefully now, won't be alone for the rest of my life, which I had feared for about 9/10ths of my life.

My husband started a new job today that he is really excited about and I just spent about 3 hours on myspace for the first time in two months, lurking out strangers blogs. I'm promising myself tomorrow that I start getting real and committing myself to doing what I want to do with my life, as now I have one less thing to worry about. Spotty foreheads.

sickly sweet

2008-10-10T09:09:00.004+01:00

I have the worst heartburn right now. I think it's a physiological reaction to wedding. Last night, I was scrolling through my ipod looking for suitable songs when I got this massive rush of adrenaline and made my stomach a bit upset. It could be largely in part to the fact of schmultz, i.e. we don't want anything schmultzy. Ugh, my stomach just gurgled again. I think I need to clean this entire flat to get rid of this feeling. I could so easily throw up right now.

Tonight is 90s dancing with Pippa, Jonas, I'm sure others are coming along as well. Tomorrow is girls night, which I'm not sure what that entails but it's going to involve champagne and an edited version of London. The very cosmopolitan London, the clean, steely London, with bricks and soft lightening. None of this knife crime, crowded, dirty London. This elegant London is also the same I'm showing my mother when she comes as well. I can't image her boding well with the east end hoodies. However, in my mother's defense, the woman has become a bit hip. When we were home, she was telling me all of this Amy Winehouse gossip and singing along to both her and Katy Perry. Apparently my mother knows all the words to 'I Kissed a Girl' which let me add, has really only started to become popular here (but I still think it's a bit sub-par, and laugh at Chris' version- I Kissed your Mum, not to be confused with my mother's version which is mutually exclusive from Chris').

cheating sleep

2008-10-07T02:41:00.005+01:00

I am such a loser. Few reasons why. One major one being that I've back in London for a week now and have completely screwed up my sleeping schedule. Few reasons for that. When we arrived home last Tuesday, I took a nap and therefore couldn't fall asleep that night. Which lead me to not being able to fall asleep during the subsequent nights (a.k.a all of this week, thank you very much) so now I fall asleep at 3.30am and wake up at 12pm really befuddled, and with lots of hair all around my face. Green tea may also be playing a part in this. I should stop making my green tea taste like a double espresso and should probably stop drinking it after 9pm. Honestly, it's 2.44am and I'm jittery.

And lame. Part b. When I was home, in retaliation for all of my stuff stolen over the years, I stole a few of my sister's books (sorry Emma). With Choke by Palahniuk coming out in cinema I thought I had better read the book before seeing the movie because I can't erase images from my head (not that I can really erase written word, but for me, personally, it's better to read the book then see the film. I've had to abandon books that I've seen the film to first mid read because all I'm seeing are flashing pictures of said film...blah blah blah). Anyway, the temptation of the film and only having 30 pages left of the book lead me to light up my internet crack pipe equivalent (wiki:) and bloody wiki the damn movie. So scrolling through, all is fine, except then reading the character descriptions, giving away the massive revelation. I am so annoyed with myself. I found out the next chapter, when finishing the book at 2.20am this morning, however that's my favourite part of anything, books, movies, philosophy, what have you, where it comes crashing down and you feel so clever for figuring it out. It's extremely vain but enlightening, and also a great feeling of community that you, along with a New York Times Bestseller slew could figure out the symbolism, metaphors, head-scratching hilarity that ensues, not necessarily just in this book and film adaptation but in all. And I'm lame because I spoiled it all by looking on IMDB and wiki.

Further revelations for later, probably tomorrow afternoon. Or today afternoon.

here comes a low

2008-10-02T00:14:00.005+01:00

Cyborg bitch- my new way of describing myself. I can sit in a car and take multiple abuses about my character but someone asks me a valid question and it pushes me over the edge. I lost my nerve today. via email. It's actually rather anti-climatic because I followed the annoyed vent paragraph with an apology for being a turbo bitch however I feel a bit guilty. Sorry Suzy. Blame the jetlag and the 'w' word.

So home. I went, and now have a lapsed jaded perception of the word. I actually have that lost feeling where I don't know which way is up, which again could be attributed to jetlag but it could also be that I'm becoming a bit of a c-u-n-t. At home, I went to visit friends in Toronto which was extremely fun but different. I'm no longer part of that community and not that it's apparent but you can't help but notice the tug.

Feet up I'm thinking about home. And I suppose noticing all those things that were different about it last night made me realise how good it is to be here, and how anal retentive I am. My skewered version now is here. I just wish that my dad hadn't become so sentimental and my mother wouldn't feel so sorry for herself. Maybe what I'm feeling isn't jetlagged but that I'm being yanked in directions that I don't want to go in, but I'm in this car, and even though I am myself, my character isn't there because I can't say anything. Don't mention the word 'schlep' to me either. What a miserable old bint I'm becoming. Or that I slept 7 hours last night, 20 minutes the night before, and 6 hours the night before that. And I can currently hear Chris snoring through the walls.