More Vainness

Sorry, I can't help it. Remember this post about people I've been told I look like? Well now thanks to www.myhertiage.com I can add Moran Atais to the list. No, I don't know who she is either. This site scans your face and matches it with celebrities in their database.

I think myhertiage.com is slightly off. We're not even the same race. They've just gone on angle, haven't they?

I've Decided To Take On A Lover

It's time to break my vow of chasity and get myself back on the market. Whilst I understand the importance of finding a mega-rich old codger to satisfy my needs financially there is no way in hell I'll have sex with him more than Christmas and his birthday so I need a plaything to occupy me the rest of the time. This man or prehaps really hot woman if I'm drunk enough should be witty, educated and a great dresser with a pad in London. I would have run some Jerry Hall style "Kept" contest but then I realised I had already stumbled upon my perfect lover last summer. Please meet Russell Brand...
What a beautiful man . I'm in love with him; he's crazy, eccentric, he dresses like a Mick Jagger Charles Dickens crossover. To truly appreciate him you have to see him live in action which you can do HERE. I highly recommend the Jonathan Ross Interview. And, oh yeah, apparently he's dating Kate Moss but I'll soon put a stop to that, prefably with my stiletto in her face.

I Got Smacked (again)

I only submitted this blog at italk2much about week ago so I didn't think it would get reviewed for months but lo and behold they smacked me promptly! Turns out they like me more than they like my obsession with Jake Gyllenhaal. That's okay, so do my parents. Here is what Sassy Sadie had to say:

"Easy now. I don’t mind a good romance novel from time to time to break up the monotony of the flights. However, while the graphic in the header is okay, I hate the header. It just looks barren. Why is it so much squeencier than the body of the blog? You should fix that.

It’s a 1 month old blog, but I think she must have been blogging before now. That being said, I did enjoy reading this blog. I like her sense of humor as if she were talking to her friend about what she’s been up to. Good day-in-the-life-of blog. Good snark. Good writing. I don’t understand why the titles are ALL IN CAPITAL LETTERS LIKE THIS nor do I understand why make a picture clickable if it isn’t going to lead to a larger version. A pet peeve of mine.

Ring me, we’ll meet up in London for a drink.

How to improve: Fix that header! "

I got three smacks which is pretty darn good. As you can see I've already followed my orders and reinvented my blog, well, changed the colours. Maybe I'll re-submit in a few days. It's sad but I need validation from internet strangers.

P.S I'm keeping the capital letter headers. I think it makes things look clearer and neater.

My 'Gin Harpy' To-Do List

1. Repeat the mantra, "Drink isn't the cure but it'll do until they discover a better one".

2. Remember to apply make-up every day, concentrating mainly on eyeliner and hot red lipstick.

3. Purchase a black silk dressing gown with embroided details for sitting on my chaise longe and hurling tumblers at the maid.

4. Buy a chaise longe.

5. Get a maid (prefably illegal).

6. Buy a tiger. It's the only being that will ever understand me - wild, savage and yet stunning. When it dies, skin it and hang on wall.

7. Alienate everybody, especially respected members of the local community.

8. Have an affair with everybody, especially respected members of the local communtiy.

9. Wear Chanel.

10. Collaspe at dinner parties.

11. Perfect glare.

12. Grow fingernails to acceptable scratching length.

13. Buy shares in Bombay Sapphire.

I need a Career or a Carer

I seriously have no idea what I'm supposed to do! I really need to get an idea in my head before I fall into an admin job at some huge company.

Ideally I want to do something creative that pays very well and only takes up a minimum amount of my time. Any ideas? When I did the questionaire at this site it told me I should be an actress. Unfortunately they neglected to include the question, "Can you act?" to which I would replied, "NO!". Why isn't life more simple? It really makes me question the whole feminist movement - I would have been perfectly happy to marry some lad from down the street, have a couple of kids and then spend my days wrangling clothes and saving up ration stamps. But no, I have to have a career, support myself and be an independent woman. Fuck that.

Oh wait, I do have a career - gin harpy.

The Internet Lies

The following dress was sold to me as an Angelina Jolie copy. I have yet to find a picture of Angelina Jolie looking anything like this. If you do, will you please let me know.



You'll have to excuse the posing - I was drunk.

Daytrippers

I went to the shittest zoo in the world yesterday - the kinda place you shouldn't go if you're easily offended my animal cruelty, or just generally offended. Once you got past the Marmosets being kept in garden sheds though it was fucking hilarious!!

First off it was down some dirt track, that, had it been raining we would have quickly become lodged in - you needed some sort of off road, four wheel drive vehicle to access this "zoo". When we got inside we had to wait in the ticket office/cafe/gift shop/animal hospital for some guy with a teddy boy haircut to show up and sell us tickets. We later saw him officiating over the pony rides and messing with the snakes - he was clearly management.
I can't really describe the "zoo" properly, it's one of those has to be seen to be believed places but maybe if I go over a few incidents you might get the vibe of this particular tourist attraction.
They had this ring tailed lemur (my new favourite animal) that was stoned or maybe tranquilised. It was sat in it's shed with it's little head pressed up against the window, just staring. Occassionally it's fellow lemur would come over and hug it.

For some crazy ass reason they let people take their dogs inside the "zoo" and we saw three shih tzus and a sausage dog that were either looking shit scared or taunting the goats. They had a leopard in there that was absolutely beautiful (apparently he once belonged to a millionaire who couldn't look after him anymore, wtf?, I thought that stopped happening in the 1800's), but he wanted to eat the sausage dog so they both sat quivering, one in sheer fear, one in anticipation.

I got very excited at the prospect of feeding the animals and went to buy myself a feed tub. I raced back out and started handing over bits of carrot to the disillusioned lemurs. One took a bit off me but immeadiately threw it on the floor where there were rabbits! Rabbits and lemurs together in the same enclosure - exactly as it would be in the wild. WTF? I went to give some more carrot to the more excitable lemur in another enclosure and he was glad of it but then I saw the list of animals you were allowed to feed and lemur wasn't on there so I slowly backed away, hoping carrot couldn't do much harm to natives of Madagascar.

We saw an animal called Geffory's Cat which just looked like your average cat. Maybe it was just some dude named Geffory's cat. Who knows? Each animal seemed to have some Oprah worthy sob story about how they came to be at this "zoo" - mainly, some other zoo didn't want it.

They had a porcupine named Cuddles who had a little notice next to him saying 'Please don't pet, Cuddles'. Yeah, that was about it.

Finally I had to go back in the ticket office/cafe/gift shop/animal hospital to buy souvenirs. I settled on a lemur and called him Larry. He now has a drinking problem. I was hungry but I wasn't going to have anything to eat there - I've got my suspicions that they're resourceful when it comes to the food, if you know what I mean. I'd love you tell you name of this place so you could visit it yourself but I don't want to be sued.

The real Larry who ate my carrot

One of the exhibits. People travel for miles to see that injured pigeon - maybe it got bit by a terrapin?

Dream Interpretations

I always have very vivid dreams that I can clearly remember in the morning. Mostly they are such nonsense that it would be impossible to try to decipher them but last night I dreamt I was getting my hair cut really short by a very camp hairdresser (think Gino from Neighbours). I didn't mind that he was chopping it all off and I didn't even try to stop him when he put these glittery blonde streaks in it. It looked hideous but I just didn't care!

So I check out the website Dream Moods, whose URL is confusingly dreemmoods.com, and this is what it had to say about hair dreams:
Hair
To dream that you are cutting your hair, suggests that you are experiencing a loss in strength. You may feel that someone is trying to censor you. Alternatively, you may be reshaping your thinking or ambitions and eliminating unwanted thoughts/habits.
To dream that you are combing or styling your hair, suggests that you are taking on and evaluating a new idea, concept, outlook, or way of thinking. You may be putting your thoughts in order and getting your facts straight. A more literal interpretation suggests your concerns about your self-image and appearance.

I was thinking this doesn't really apply because I wasn't cutting my hair, someone else was.
But then I scrolled down and saw this:
Salon
To dream that you are at the salon, indicates your consciousness of your appearance and beauty. You may be trying too hard to impress others. It may also suggests deception and cover-up of some situation. Alternatively, it may denote a new outlook toward life.

Great, it's official. I'm so shallow even my subconscious focuses on aesthetics. Whadda ya make of that Freud? I'm just petty and hollow! Alternatively I'm a big liar with a new outlook.

A Little Tale

I've wanted to post some of my work up here for a while but I've only now worked out how to use expandable posts.

I wrote this prose last spring and it got really good feedback from my tutor - who is now on Sabbatical - I wish she'd stuck around. She was brilliantly nutty in that academic way. So, please read it through and see what you think. There are still parts of it I'm not happy with but I daren't touch it anymore. Thank you!

PEDRO

Pedro was the only one left. He would sit beneath the statue of the Duke of Wellington in Threadneedle Street holding a tenth edition of the Oxford Concise Dictionary under his left arm. Most of the time he would sit and watch them go past but occasionally he would turn his attention to his book, read something to himself from it and then laugh loudly and beat his fist on the bronze beside him.

Sometimes they asked him why did he not go home to Sorrento. He could sit on the black volcanic sand and drink limone, or sink his feet into the still Mediterranean ocean and watch the boats go by. Pedro told them that London was too important to him, he couldn’t leave her now, she was his world and she held his everything. He could feel the cold that swam through her streets, the endless rain, the fog; but he also knew the heat of August that used to bring all the people out of the buildings and into the parks.

Sometimes he would walk along the banks of the Thames, slower than the rest of course, and stop every so often to look over at The Houses of Parliament. He would start reciting all he knew about Westminster, all the facts he had learnt from leaflets, books and the internet. They could hear his muffled words some in English, some in Italian but could not make sense of what he said until he would suddenly lift his head and scream ‘WAR’ or ‘BETRAYAL’. He startled the younger ones and their guardians would have to pull them close to reassure them.

Once some security service officers tried to take him away from his spot at Wellington’s feet. They tried to reason with him, explain to him that he didn’t belong here and that he should go home. Pedro circled their faces with his eyes and then reached out and gently stroked one of the officers hands. In the moments they were taken aback by his behaviour Pedro opened his dictionary and began running his finger repeatedly across one particular entry:

Human · adj. of, relating to, or characteristic of humankind. † of or characteristic of people as opposed to God or animals or machines: human error † showing the better qualities of humankind such as sensitivity .
· n. a human being.

He began to laugh as if the word was his own private joke. They took this action to be a confirmation of the his dementia and told him they would come back for him later when they had the official paperwork. One officer stayed behind a moment longer than the others and whispered to Pedro, “Stay safe Old Pedro, the doctors can help you, please let the doctors help you”. Pedro laughed, he thought very little of the doctors in their hospitals. Fifteen years ago the doctors had helped Pedro’s friend Joe. They took away all his problems, cured all his pains and then Pedro never saw him again. They had done it to them all.

Two days later the authorities came back and Pedro knew it was over. As they gathered around him Pedro recognised the officer from the day before and remembered how he had almost been kind. Maybe there is some hope he thought to himself as they escorted to him to a white van. Inside it was warm and relief came to Pedro’s cold limbs. It saddened him as he wondered whether he’d ever feel that kind of sensation again.

At the hospital they took Pedro to a small room with a desk and three chairs and left him there. A few moments later two doctors came in and sat down to question him.
“Why did you wait so long to come here Pedro?”
Pedro said nothing. He just looked around them again like he did the officers, like they were just like the statues and landmarks he adored.
“We can replace everything Pedro. Your old bones, your poor eyes, your skin…it’s far too sensitive to temperature. Wouldn’t you like that Pedro? No more pain?”
Pedro answered them this time, “I like the pain, I like the cold”.
“You can’t Pedro. Nobody has to live with pain. You don’t need the pain”.
Pedro sighed and resigned himself as he knew the doctors would never understand. His pain reminded him he was human, that he was frail and that he could die. He wasn’t like them with their replaceable parts, their bionic bodies. They were not human.

As he waited for his operation Pedro considering escaping. He wanted to look around the city just one more time. To see the statues of forgotten war, the palace of extinct hierarchy, the buildings that once housed corruption and greed. They said those were the worst traits of the human condition but Pedro thought at least they were human. Pedro knew all about the terrible things humans had done but he also remembered the good things. Just like the summer in London, everyone would forget about the rain once the sun was blazing on their backs as they lay in the beautiful parks. Maybe they didn’t think about it like Pedro did because he knew that those parks only looked so lush and green because of the rain. Pedro knew the old world had existed on balance. Not now though. Pedro opened his dictionary one last time and turned to a word:

Cyborg · n. a fictional or hypothetical person whose physical abilities are extended beyond human limitations by mechanical elements built into the body.
- ORIGIN 1960s: blend of cyber- and organism.

Pedro did not laugh. His dictionary was very old.

copyrighted britpopbaby 2006

I've Had A Great Idea

I'm always having great ideas, immense flashes of genius but this is sommit else! I'm going to open a zoo. Now, I know what you're thinking: that sounds really expensive and relatively high maintenance, britpop, but don't worry - I've thought it through. My zoo is special.

Instead of actual animals I'm just going to have a shit load of foilage and sound effects! Then when people ask me where the tigers are I'll just say they're hiding or sleeping. I might be able to afford some actual rabbits and a duck. Perhaps a goat. But that's it. What do reckon? Think I'll get away with it?

Save Lewis

This just made me cry and laugh at the same time. Okay, more laughter than tears but I'm so touched I'm joining the cause and for anyone who knows me this means it's a big deal because I usually stay at least ten foot away from charity. Read about Lewis the Cat HERE.

Then go and buy something from here:
http://www.cafepress.com/crazycatlewis

On a similar topic, I just want to say, I think it's bullshit when people say you're either a dog or a cat person. I love 'em both. Dogs are loyal and really become a part of the family and cats are just so cool and rebellious and slightly evil - well mine is. I could never pick between my dog and cat, they both crack me up and they work as a team to pull defrosting legs of lamb down off the kitchen counter.

Conversations In The Kitchen

Me: You know Ryan wotshisname, who's going out with Annalise? That new film of his looks shit.
PAUSE
Anneka: Apart from the fact that I don't know who Ryan wotshisname or Annalise are and no idea what this film is, I got all of that.
Me: Ryan...Ryan...
Anneka: Seacrest?
Me: No!
Anneka: Philli...mont?
Me: Phillimont?!?
Anneka: I can't pronounce it!
Me: So you went straight to Phillimont?
Anneka: What is it then?
Me: (ignoring Anneka's question) The bloke who was in Van Wilder!
Anneka: Reynolds?
Me: Right. And he's dating Annalise...
Anneka: Alanis Morrisette?
Me: That's the one. Well, his new film, called 'Waiting' or something, set in a restaurant, looks shit.
Anneka: Well, despite ten minutes hard work, now we actually have a talking point.
SILENCE
Me: Phillimont?
Anneka: Yeah, he's married to Reese...
Me: Withermont?

We don't need to watch sitcoms when we stuff like this in our own house.

Is This Bitchy?

I've just realised that I give nicknames to practically everyone I meet. Now that may initially sound sweet but they're not nice monikers. I don't know whether I do it to amuse myself or whether I don't care about their exsistence enough to use their proper names?

Par example:

Sideshow Bob: A man who has often been in my creative writing workshops and literature seminars over the last three years and is far too intelligent for my liking. I take comfort in the fact that he is quite detached from reality because he is a skinny white man from some posh part of Southern England but he has foot long dreadlocks - all these facts combined equals the name Sideshow Bob. Clever, no? Anyway, he ain't never gonna get a job unless it's on the till at a surf and skate shop.

Fisting Boy: An accomplice to Sideshow Bob, he once wrote a metaphorical poem about fisting so he only has himself to blame for this label. He seems nice but I really don't want to know him anymore than I already do, which is not at all. As I once said, "There is a time and a place for fisting and a poetry workshop is not it."

Wanking Boy: We sat next to him once in a lecture and all the way through my pal kept pulling her nose at me and as we left the hall she announced, quite loudly, "Was it just me or did that boy smell of sperm?". Ah, poor wanking boy. He looks like the sort who has many a video file in his computer documents.

That Fat Slag: Not the most original but entirely appropiate when used to describe my next door neighbour.

Jesus Freak: Again, not creative and the only reason she gets called this is because she has one of those fish stickers on her bumper.

Laura: That's her actual name but she is so frickin' creepy we have to pronounce it Laaaaauu-raaaaaaaaa!

Library Twat: This fucker works in the Uni library and acts like it's the most stressful job in the world. He is always bitching about something and when you try to get books out he says stuff like, "God, you don't wanna read that!"

Book Shop Twat: Similar to Library Twat he acts like it's really cool and high pressure to work in the Uni book shop and tries to chat you up in that, "I don't give a shit about you" way which I would actually kinda like if I was trying to start a relationship not buying a fucking book.

Wild Bill: He is a mature student who has a slightly, well, wild aura surrounding him. He can be really rude sometimes, particularly to lecturers but the most exciting thing that happened was when we saw him with one of our tutors in the supermarket, together, buying courgettes!

Creepy Andrew: He is like this albino daddy long legs who seriously freaks me out. No matter where I sit in a room his long limbs manage to touch me. Once he sat right next to me and put his arm round the back of my chair in a seminar! Ugh. He also managed to write 'I suck cock for ten pounds' on my arm in black marker at a party once when my Dad was picking me up the next day.

I think I'll stick to my nicknames, everybody does it, right?

We Shall Overcome (Perhaps)

So I got my Writing Project back and my professor liked it! He said I have a, "talent for creative dialogue and...characterisations which come close to caricature yet remain oddly convincing,". Oddly convincing? Anneka and I decided that was a slight backhanded compliment but I'll take it! People have said worse. I haven't got my exact mark yet but he gave me a good estimate that means I should graduate with a pretty decent degree. Well, actually, prehaps not so much - the lecturers are on strike. Selfish bastards.

Our Uni even made the BBC Six O'Clock news, again - we're such trouble makers! Lecturers want a 25% pay increase over three years, yeah, good luck with that, chumps. They won't pay nurses, you think they're going to hand over more cash to you? Any teacher in the AUT is not marking work which means essays and exams. Loads of exams have been cancelled already which has just totally screwed everyone up. Why take it out on the students? And I wish they would strike properly - I want to see marches, picket lines, bearded tweedy proffs scaling Buckingham Palace not just them all sat in their offices going, "Oh, I'm so sorry I can't mark your dissertation. Hopefully it will all be resolved soon now excuse me I must go back to my tea and chocolate digestives,". It's been going on since March! I'm waiting for two portfolios back from my other writing lecturer and there is a possibility my exam on Saturday will be scratched. I actually don't mind that so much as it's on Twentieth Century Literature - god, what a whiny bloody century! Apparently, because it's our final year they may just give us an average - that would be so sweet. In fact that would be too good to be true so I reckon my exam will not be cancelled. Screw 'em all.

In other news I've just been to see Mission Impossible 3. It was pretty decent, I even managed to forget how six levels of bat shit crazy Tom Cruise is for a moment. Best line: "Don't interupt me when I'm asking rhetorical questions!"

Friday Night Fever

I headed out into the glittering lights of town last night. All I can say is that I have officially turned into a gin harpy, just minus the gin; we were on Sex on the Beach and Blue Lagoon cocktails - how 80's of us. Anneka and I sat in the corner of the bar and bitched about everyone who walked past. Can I just say, frayed denim mini skirt + stillettos = fucking cheap on even the most beautiful woman. What's the matter with people? Just because the temperature rises above 10 degrees for a day does not mean you can go out dressed like it's Ibiza in August.

After we slung back our two pitchers we went on to the local nightclub. Nightclub is not quite the right noun for it, shithole is more accurate. It's full of shits too. The first bloke I got chatted up by was, as he shall always be known, Ribena Boy. We met before in 2004 when he tried to sleep with my pal Sarah but ended up passed out on our couch, only after I'd made him a hot Ribena - fucking child. He's one of those men who knows their good looking ( he kinda looks like Adam Levine) and is just an arrogant twat about it, not cheeky or cocky, just a complete dick. On the night back in 2004 we went to the chip shop before we ended up back at our house and he thought it was hella funny to keep putting his greasy fries on my shoulder and then pointing, saying, "You've got a chip on your shoulder!". Well he hadn't improved any by last night and when I began to recollect our relationship (which also involved a Halloween incident where he was dressed as a baby) he denied having ever met me and claimed it must have been his twin brother. Cock.

The next man was a bald policeman who asked me dance. I tried to pretend that my feet were too sore but Anneka nudged me up. Thanks for that. We had a very arkward dance where he kept trying to ask me questions but hello? we're on a dancefloor, not the place! I promptly left when the song was over and said I'd join him for a drink later but er...I forgot, whoops!

Man Number 3 was a cute Southern American looking gentleman but turned out he was from South London (pronounced Sarf Landan), not so exotic. We spent about an hour chatting before he said, "Look you're beautiful and great to talk too but I've gotta be honest, I've got a girlfriend. She does English too!". Oh, that's great! Maybe we can all get together and read some Chaucer? COCK!

I stopped even making eye contact with people after that but Anneka and I still managed to attract attention in the form of a seventeen year old girl who seemed a little too excited to be out. She told us we were the coolest people she'd met and could she have my phone number? Did I just get hit on my a sixth former? I have to admit it, she was quite foxy, I probably would have. We managed to escape the club and bagged a taxi straight away but had to have a very confusing conversation with the taxi driver about club and pub closing times all the way home. All in all quite a depressing night. I can't wait until I start properly on the gin because that's supposed to make you angry depressed. Woohoo!

People I've Been Told I Look Like

I was putting on my make-up and then I got bored because I'm waiting for Anneka to move herself so I thought I'd put this up. Make of it what you will...

Dark hair aside, are they in any way similar?

Freaking Out May Become My Hobby

According to my writing tutor, Professor Jem Poster (works available at all independent, low-scale book stores), my Writing Project is ready for collection. Trouble is, I don't want the fucking thing back. I've spent the whole of University doing as little work as possible just to get through because, as I mentioned in the previous post, I'm a lazy cow. Sometimes I get all excited about a challenge, come up with a million ideas and then never follow it through. Take the Writing Project for example, I had all my ideas ready for it last summer but then as the months went by I went off the plot I had planned and by March I scrapped the premise completely. Then I had to grab onto any thread of thought I could and tug at it until 4,000 words of prose came out. Then I hurried to write the commentary where you have to explain every little bloody choice you made when writing your piece and I can usually never remember so I just bullshit for another 2,000 words. Then I bullshit about what other authors influenced me (like Virgina Woolf, ha! The only thing she would influence me to do is kill myself) but they ain't never pulled me up on it so far so fingers crossed.

I think I'm fretting about it more than I should because I've always had it down as a huge deal but I think it's only 2.9% of my total grade. Mind you, saying all this, I've never been one for worrying too much so that completely backtracks on the title of this post. My Mum says she reckons I've been here before in another life because I'm so laid back but more on that at another time. Maybe if I worked harder at things I'd be more concerned over the result. I feel guilty because my parents always say, "Well as long as you tried your best,". Maybe 'my best' is just getting through it, I suppose there was so much more I could've done but it's too late now. Ugh, this totally the way my life is heading: career, marriage, kids - could have tried harder. I do slave away at these blogs though, it's a mystery to me...

I Am Such A Lazy Mare

I was woken up at 9.30am this morning by what I presumed where cleaners that had come to deal with the mess of THIS NIGHT. I quickly assessed that half nine was far too early to rise and literally burrowed back under my pillows. I was woken again at 11.00am by some twat outside revving his car and again I decided to go back to sleep. I finally got up at 12.30pm. It's now 3pm and I still haven't had breakfast. I disgust myself. In a moment I'll go to the kitchen and have some kind of meal with my soulmate, Anneka and we might play Monopoly. Then we'll watch Deal or No Deal and then Neighbours. Probably The Simpsons after that and then we'll have another meal. Then I have to watch Dismissed at 7pm because it's hilarious and then more TV until about midnight and then I'll go to bed again. I have an exam to revise for and a career to plan but I just do not give a shit anymore. I'm also not even that concerned about my perpetual laziness although I'm sure some doctors or therapists would be.

I found this blog called The Lazy Way to Success. It's very reassuring.

The Illuminati

One major thing you should know about me is that I'm obsessed with conspiracy theories. I just think that has to be so much more to the world to explain all the shit that goes on. I'm not talking about aliens, I'm talking about people in positions of power doing all they can to fuck up the rest of us. I've always said that politcians should not be allowed to run countries - I don't trust ANY of them, domestic or foreign and they usually come up a cropper and prove my misgivings to be correct. Take Tony Blair for example, why does that man sweat so much?

Well, until today I did not realise there was a name for all this but then I saw Sky One's Conspiracies with Danny Wallace. He was trying uncover to information on a global secret organisation called The Illuminati. Secret clubs are my absolute favourite! I won't bore you with the details because I understand it's an aquired taste but basically these people are taking over the world by dumbing down the rest of us, they funded Hitler and George W. Bush is a member. Enough said. Run for the hills!

You can learn more HERE.

Supermarket Sweep

Have you ever walked into a supermarket and completely forgotten what you went in for? I thought that stuff like that only happened to old people but, alas, no. I needed bread and milk but I brought two cheesecakes and a bottle of Bacardi. I almost brought two-for-one Pringles as well but there was an obese person blocking the aisle. I took it as a warning.

I hate supermarkets and other places where you find a lot of people aimlessly milling around, getting in your way. I'm a food shopping warrior, in and out as fast as possible with a take no prisoners attitude. This usually means I have nothing in my cupboards that I actually want to eat because I grabbed the nearest and cheapest produce. And I always get the checkout boy that's high on drugs so instead of swishing my food through he slams it at the scanner and then grins at me. We often see him out on Friday nights, break dancing and starting fights.

If I take over the world, supermarkets are getting abolished and everyone can go back to buying their bananas from the friendly local grocer. I know it's less convenient but I won't care; I'll be in charge of the world so I'll have people to do my shopping for me.

Farewell To The May Ball

I attended my last University May Ball last night/this morning. My pal Anneka and I have made it a record three times to this bloody thing without having to queue in the rain at midnight for tickets once! That looks like it's going to be my biggest achievement at Uni.

The first year I was uber excited about it, believing it would be a night of electric romance and glamour. It was not. I brought an expensive satin dress and spent the whole evening trying not to get stuff down it and scowling at people who dared put their feet anywhere near the train. Then I spotted some petite Chinese girl wearing the exact same dress and looking miles better in it so I gave in and promptly spilled a vodka and coke down the front. Whilst romance was distinctly lacking I did attract some male attention that night in the form of a half Welsh, half Italian Lidl manger. Lidl, for those who don't know, is a white trash supermarket that saves you money by stacking the food on a pile on the floor rather than shelves. My Mother occasionally buys Russian pinapple juice from there which I refuse to drink, not that we're white trash, she's just thrifty. Anyway the whole thing was rather cheap and tacky and I was not impressed by him in the slighest but then he spoke Italian to me and I was a goner. I ended up back at his house and had my first of many one night stands. As soon as he fell asleep I legged it, fearing that by the morning I would not be the sexy, cool, wild young woman I believed I was a few hours ago but actually a cheap, drunk student with more than just vodka stains down my satin dress. I retreated back to my halls of residence and tried to forget the whole May Ball fiasco.

In the second year I went in a more casual pink slip dress and spent the night with a man by the name of Charlie on Charlie. We rode various fairground attractions, one of which was called the Mad Max which I almost died on because I was too small for the seat. This is pretty much how last night was - I didn't have high hopes. I was wearing a turquoise dress in the style of Angelina Jolie (no, honestly, I brought it at www.asos.com) that kept slipping off my shoulders. Anneka and I headed to the fairground again and boarded the Whizzlers, those spinning ones where the carnies push you around. All was going well until some over eager carnie man began spinning round vigourously and not only did my dress ride all the way up my legs but both shoulders fell off. I was pretty naked by the time the ride stopped. That was about as eventful as the night got. There were no men I found attractive enough to go and drunkenly lean on in the hope of some action except the events manager, who I reckon looks like Colin Farrell, but he was working so he probably would have had me banned from the Union had I tried to get fresh with him. The main act of the night, Liberty X, got frightened off stage when some tosser let off a smoke bomb and the entire place had to be evacuated. Apparently they jumped straight into their waiting cars and zoomed off, refusing to go back on. Luckily for us students, Chesney Hawkes, the second headlining act saved the day with a one and a half hour set that included American Pie, Space Cowboy and Jumping Jack Flash. I was drunk so I found it all very exciting. He finished the night with his Number One hit smash, The One and Only and I started cheering along like it was Nelson Mandela's release party. After that I went immeadiately drunk tired and had to stumble home. I woke up this morning with miracously no hangover but plenty of bruises from those lame rides.

So farewell to the May Ball, we've had our ups and downs but I'm glad of our time together, it was an experience.

Hello Darlings!

I'm a 22 year old woman who is about to finish University and has no idea what to do with her life. I'm already bitter and twisted and right now my only ambition is to find a rich old man to marry and then slip too many pills into his tea. I also aim to become a gin harpy, this is sitting at the back of a smoky club, nursing a cocktail and spitting at anyone who comes near me. I plan to numb the pain by always being in a state of artifical happiness either through whatever means nessecary. I'm actually drunk right now but I think I'm typing miracously well...maybe I should always write when tipsy. And I know what you're going to say, 'Memoirs' suggests death, someone who has passed, well maybe I have. Ever heard of Roland Barthes, Death of the Author? The reason I'm starting this blog is because I've enjoyed the experience so far with my other blog JAKE WATCH and the reason why I started that is noted on my MySpace.