You know you want me...

I love how this is the first thing the Weight Watchers fatties see when they come in for their meetings.

Cruel? Possibly.
Funny? Absolutely.

Soft skin, red lips, so kissable

My newest 'girl crush'.



I can't quite decide whether I want to look like her or just look at her.
Either way I'm totally lezzing.

It's so magical, we'd be so fantastical

I'm not quite sure what the blogging etiquette is for talking about your loved ones...
But I wanna take a moment to big up my writing partner & best friend:
Miss Amy Ellen Hill.

Having decided that neither of us would be content with a life of normality and have always craved attention, we thought the only natural progression would be to team up and create the most fabulous female comedy duo the world has ever known.

So, my totally amazing, super friend set to work writing a couple of scripts for our, as yet unnamed, tv show.
I've just read said scripts and wow. Quite simply wow.
Obviously these scripts aren't anywhere near finished but the crucial concepts and plotlines are all there. I'm hoping I can try and contribute myself...it is a partnership after all.

The only real reason I'm posting about this is that I am so impressed with what she's done and so excited about where we're headed, that I just had to vocalise it. It'll take alot of work and be a pretty tedious process at times but I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that it'll be worth it. The ends more than justifies the means.
We're moving in the right direction now.
We will get there.
And we will fulfill our dreams.

I always said that I would make mistakes. I'm only human, and that's my saving grace

Finally saw Brüno last night. Sacha Baron Cohen is a sick sick man but I love it. Fantastiche!
And the night in with my fave proved wonderfully succesful.
Films. Food. Friends. Perfect.
Staying up til 6am and watching children's tv before eventually dragging ourselves up to bed.
Then waking up at half 3 and gorging ourselves on Maccy Ds.
This is the life!

I'm also still obsessed with the book I just read. And having finished it I feel like my best friend's just started ignoring my calls.

By nature I am not very deep, so I rely on books and music and very occasionally art to make me think about stuff more. Anyway, Chuck has an interesting theory on love, and it makes me think...
"There are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you'll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there's still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it always happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of those qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. You will remember having conversations with this person that never actually happened. You will recall sexual trysts with this person that never technically occured. The person is real, and the feelings are real - but you create the context. And context is everything. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they're often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else."
This book is better than emo.

You see, I always thought I won.
Because out of that experience I realised what love wasn't supposed to be.
Drama is exciting. But no one wants to be excited all the time. The most retarded thing about the whole saga was that the un-named didn't want to be with me properly. Sneaking around, stolen glances and secret make-out sessions were all he needed. This alone doesn't sound retarded, but is when you take into account the fact that he said those immortal three words after mere months. This idea that he didn't want me properly but at the same time required some hold over me. Something I've encountered several times since, guess I just know how to pick em. He was wrong and also of the opinion that he was too good for me. Another hugely untrue 'fact'. I know now that I deserve better than that. I cannot deny that this shaped my idea of love.

Another reason I won is that out of that came, after some rough times, an even stronger relationship with my closest friend. I never want to go through that again and will never put anyone or anything before her again. On top of that, I would have made the best girlfriend ever. He, on the other hand, will always just be a mediocre shag with no substance.

I love books, they make me think of stuff that would never have occured to me.

Oh I want you, I dunno if I need you but I'd die to find out

The thing about the internet is that sometimes it makes me so depressed that I prolong the depression and spend more time online - like some form of medieval torture. Except, y'know, with a laptop and it not being, oh I dunno, the middle ages.

The form of torture that's taking place right now is looking at shoes that I cannot afford online. Firstly, I cannot afford the real deals, so I'm looking at high street knock offs. Already this is sentence is depressing. Secondly, I cannot even afford the knock offs. What the christ is up with my financial situation? Someone please shoot me.

Or buy me these.

A heavy bassline is my kind of silence

I'm pretty sure I have bad taste.
In pretty much everything.
Except maybe clothes, but that's only because in that respect, I look like everyone else. I buy my clothes from the same high street shops as everyone else.
I'm at ease with my questionable taste. But it poses problems.
For instance, if someone asks me to recommend a film, I feel bad doing it. Because the chances are, they'll shell out twenty quid and hate what I chose.
Same goes for music. Obviously. I mean, I fucking love a lot of the same music my peers do. You know, alt-pop, punk, post-punk, new-wave, no-wave, rocknroll, indie, all that. But I spend most of my time listening to random crap hardly anyone's heard of. Cheesy pop. Old country blues. Long-haired hicks from Shitsville, USA, singing about girls and screwing over/getting screwed over by best friends. Overly emotional screams.

I'm thinking about this because I've spent the last two days reading a book that I can't put down. I'm so fucking inspired by it that I've written more in my notebook over the last few days than I probably have done in weeks. It's been a while since I've used a pen for anything more than jotting down times and places, so I pretty much can't spell or write.

Back to the book.
I've just finished it and I feel slightly empty. What I expected was to be a story of the author's travels across America visiting famous rocknroll death sites turned out to be more about his cynical views on life, love and music culture. When I read a book, I fold the bottom corners of the pages up when I like a bit of the writing especially. And at the end I've folded up a record number.
Not that I talk about books much with my friends (it's usually music and whoever we hate/love most at that point in time), but despite how much I loved this book, I am never going to recommend it. Even the author admits that most book enthusiasts slate his style of writing.
On one of my folded pages is this:
"Art and love are the same thing: it's the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you. It's understanding the unreasonable."
This sounds pseudo-intelligent, but don't be fooled. These few sentences were preceeded by how he can relate every romantic encounter to a member of KISS. But I guess this sort of shows why I like this book (scrap that, I love it). I know it's not the most intellectual read but it reacts with me and even though the author is a cynical thirty year old from New York I fucking agree with him. Everything he rambles on about that has shit all to do with the book I relate to.
Even though I've never experienced it.
In that respect I'm painfully aware that this book is one big record.
I get it.
It pulls at my mind and my heart.
And for that reason no one else will agree.

I've been thinking about how every situation I encounter can be perfectly depicted by a particular song. Whether I'm adapting the meaning of the song to fit the scenario or looking for scenarios to re-enact the song, I'm not sure. And not sure I want to know, honestly. I guess most of the people I experience these moments with would be offended by the choices I've made to sum up our time together. There's one song that I can't listen to anymore because it will only ever remind me of one time in my life. Which is dumb because I only ever wanted the situation to be like a rock song, whereas in reality it was the other way round.

I've bought two more books, but I don't want to read them til I've got the other one out of my head.
Which could be a while.
It's called 'Killing Yourself To Live'.
And it's by Chuck Klosterman.
And I'm 85% sure it's the best book I've ever read.

Every penny don't fit the slot

Being on a 'healthy eating plan' in a bid to reduce the jelly belly is depressing.

Reach out and touch faith

I don't often talk about religion. But after an interesting discussion with an agnostic friend of mine, I thought I might give it a go.

My father was a Buddhist, my mother Church of England and from the ages of 5 - 11, I attended a Catholic school. So you can only imagine how conflicting certain religious ideologies were to me as a child. At home we had little fat man statues scattered about the place which I'd look at whilst being taught songs about meeting Jesus at the crossroads. Daily masses took up most of the school day and, looking back, I have little memory of learning anything in that place that wasn't depicted in one of the gospels. Yet since leaving, I could probably count the number of times I have been to church on the fingers of one hand. As I once quite infamously said to my mother, I was 'all religion-ed out'. My religious affliations took a back burner. Growing up took a precedent.

From a very early age I always thought that it was possible to be highly religious without going to church. My child-like mind thought of those literally unable to attend regular services, those in hospital or in war torn countries. Surely God wouldn't just cast these people aside? If God truly is the all-knowing, all-loving presence we're led to believe then wouldn't he/she want to embrace all those with faith; regardless of how often they go to mass. That we shouldn't have to prove our devotion through ritualistic actions. This idea was supported by my mother who still, to this day, maintains that our faith is no lesser than those who choose to go to church every week; we simply chose our own home as our church.

This leads me to an area I feel extremely passionately about. My greatest pet hate. Organised religion and the commercialisation of worship. TV evangelists are not 'endorsed' by the big man upstairs. They have no special 'connection'. They're nothing more than con men, praying on the vulnerable. Ironically, the polar opposite of the teachings they claim to be preaching. And religious groups who moan about dwindling numbers make my blood boil. Membership. Do they think Jesus is somehow impressed by voter turnout? That God gives preference to religions that appear especially popular? It's not like God only allocates federal funding to religious organisations that meet a quota.

To be perfectly honest, I don't really think there's much of a place for 'traditional' religions in modern society. Everywhere we look today we are bombarded by lustful visions and endless temptations. All things that'll lead you straight to hell, apparently. I must say though I have the utmost respect for people who do manage to live a holy existence and abstain from all temptations in this day and age. This has to be a hundred times harder than it would have ever have been at any other point in history. But even so, I couldn't bring myself to follow these examples in my own life. I drink, I curse, I listen to offensive rock music, I lust after the opposite sex and I am guilty of numerous 'sins of the flesh'. In the mind of a religious fanatic I am bound for eternal damnation. But to the majority of the population I am, quite simply, normal. Nothing particularly spectacular or punishable. And I can't help being this way; it's how our generation have been programmed to be. I haven't gone out of my way to break the rules. The rules just don't really fit my lifestyle.

I would like to say, though, that I would like to think all is not lost for me. I still have extremely strong beliefs and opinions. My own unique brand of faith, if you will. I think that it is very important to have something to believe in. Whatever that something may be. For me, I like to think there's more to life than simply what we see on this earth. I'm not talking about anything as absolute or set in stone as 'heaven' and 'hell', but something. This is an opinion I was surprised to find I share with my aforementioned friend. I guess this ideology is easier to uphold than a traditional one as it is more abstract. There are no rules. The details will differ from person to person. We're not talking about a big man with a long beard sitting on a cloud but it's comforting to imagine something. Even if we are unsure what that something is, the mere fact of having something to believe in is incredibly rewarding.

I also believe very strongly in fate and destiny. With a slight human twist. That there is some powerful force guiding us through life but that, ultimately, it is our individual choices that determine the end result. Fate can lead you somewhere but it's up to you what you do when you get there. Apparently this is quite a Buddhist way of thinking. Thank you Father.

So, to try and finish this unbelievably long-winded ramble, I'll conclude by just saying this:
I think that religion, as with most things, needn't be so restrictive. People should be able to decide how, when and if they choose to worship for themselves. We shouldn't have to mold ourselves to try and fit into a box. When asked if I am religious, I simply reply that I have faith. When asked to tick a box, I choose 'other'. I am not un-religious, and as I've stated I do agree with certain religious views, I just have not found any of the five major religions to be perfectly suited to me. And I don't feel I should have to compromise or sacrifice. I have my own religion. I am my own priest.
My own God, as it were.

Some fellows look and find the sunshine. I always look and find the rain

I love listening to rain. I realise this is a pretty cliché thing to love, but I am a cliché person (at least when it comes to thinking about the weather).

The storm outside has been brewing for a while now . Odd sparks of lightning and rumbles of thunder here and there. But now the heavens have finally opened. The rain comes in inconsistent sheets. Almost as if some meteorological hooligan is throwing buckets of water up at my window every time a wind machine kicks up.



It must be raining everywhere. I cannot imagine anywhere escaping this storm and staying dry. This is, of course, highly unlikely and geographically unsound but it's still nice to imagine us all united under this veil of precipitation.

There's something soothing about laying in bed with only the sound of the rain outside for company. When you're inside, rain is never frightening. As if somehow the rain will wash away everything we're hiding from, everything we're scared of, everything we can't bare to face, whilst we sleep. That when we wake in the morning the world will have been cleansed and that things will be different. Obviously this is not true and when I awake in the morning I'll still have a chin the size of a small country, the swine flu 'epidemic' will still be in full swing and wars will still be fought across the world. But it makes it easier to sleep thinking about it my way.

Oh what a delightfully English post. Next I'll be offering up tips on making the most of a queue. Crikey.

You make me sick, and I can't be the only one

I'm a little bit under the weather. (A rather paradoxical phrase I've always felt. Except for those with their 'head in the clouds.') And as anyone who knows me well will tell you, I'm a rather sadistic and twisted person and I want all of you reading this to feel as 'under the weather' as I do. To this end I'm going to make you all feel sick using two simple words:

PEACHES GELDOF.

Enjoy.

A kiss with a fist is better than none

Relationships. They’re funny things aren’t they? So often I see pairings that strike me as unnatural. They never seem to look happy either. As if they know how odd they look to the rest of the world. But of course we all know how so many couples stick together despite being blatantly unhappy. Misery loves company.

I myself have been guilty in the past of clinging onto something I knew full well had ended a long time ago. I was just so desperate to imagine things getting better. That it was just a ‘bad patch’ that we could push through. And at the time I even started to deny how bad things were. Painting a picture of moonlight and roses. Ashamed to admit to my girlfriends that I’d picked yet another loser.

But destructive relationships are almost hypnotic. Somehow you get used to the abuse, the neglect, the anger and start to think that somehow this ridiculous farce equates to love. And I’m not just talking about the extreme kinds of relationships that we all look down on from high on our pedestals. I’m talking about the subtle torture that occurs behind closed doors. Couples with more distaste for each other than they do for a rat on the street. Who grind each other down. And end up stuck in a rut of arguments and silent treatments but somehow just cannot let go.

So are we THAT emotionally needy? That afraid to be alone that we must endure these unhealthy interactions? As if this emotional anguish is the best that we’re ever going to get. That the thought of someone actually wanting to be with us is so alien that we must cling to that despite the calibre of said mate. Our only real system of vetting our potential partners is taking them to meet our closest friends for inspection. And even then we hardly take any notice if what they have to say is negative.

In some ways these sorts of relationships are exciting, sure. That element of mystery that greets you every time you get home. Will tonight’s dinner go smoothly or will the lovingly prepared spag bol end up creating some new form of abstract art on the wall? Surely this isn’t healthy though. I understand that monogamy can quickly become monotony but at least the love is there. Things can be easily spiced up after a quick visit to Ann Summers. Whereas solving major relationship dramas must be hard if people are resorting to humiliating themselves on national telly on the Jeremy Kyle show.

Whatever the reason for it all, I honestly think this is complete bollocks. But I’ve learnt from my mistakes. I feel very strongly that every single person on this earth deserves to be happy. To find someone worthwhile to share their life with. Someone who will really appreciate them. But maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic. We shouldn’t settle for less than the best. Personal perfection.

I’m also incredibly protective of my friends now. That old adage ‘mess with her and you mess with me’ couldn’t be more appropriate. I just hate to imagine them going through some of the bad times I have and making the same stupid mistakes I did. If it wasn’t for my best friend I wouldn’t be the strong woman I am today. I will be eternally grateful for everything she’s done for me. Everything she’s put up with. So obviously I want nothing less than the best for her. Her future boyfriends will meet their harshest critic in me. ‘Break her heart and I’ll break your face’. And she’s seen me broken so many times that I know that she feels exactly the same way. Our dynamic is solid. And I pray it always will be.

Secret crowds rise up and gather

I seem to be having trouble settling into a book at the moment. There was a time when my nights drew to a close accompanied by a cup of tea and some compelling prose. But currently I have three unfinished novels lying precariously on my bedside table, tossed aside after I either got bored or just didn’t bother picking them up again, as well as numerous magazine sprawled across my floor. I’ve even turned to asking people for recommendations. Which I never do. But desperate times and all that. I’d much rather read something I sought out myself. Or perhaps stumbled across in the random sort of way I tend to find most things. Maybe I just need to keep looking. I really hope I haven’t lost the joy of reading for good. Lord knows how I’ll attempt to educate myself if I have. Hmm. Least my beloved music hasn't abandoned me. Yet.

Here’s something that amused me. I’m at work so I crave silly little things that pass the time.



To be honest I'm having a hard time working out what makes me happier - the pug pausing to take in the view (1:22) or just the simple fact that it's a fucking pug pushing a stroller! Youtube was created for moments like this.

See things through the eyes of a fool

Lock you in a dream, never let you go

I was watching the music channel earlier. A good chance to catch up on the hottest new tracks in the hope to get my finger back on the pulse, as it were. Or so I thought. Instead, interspersed between the La Gaga & Lady Roux, was a different Michael Jackson song. Because we haven’t heard enough already?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not denying he’s a musical genius and I love a bit of ‘SHAMOOON!’ as much as the next girl but come on. Why should we be bombarded by a constant stream of classic pop, just because the artist has died? The music hasn’t changed. And people who are suddenly proclaiming their love and adoration for said music, despite being rather indifferent before the events of two weeks ago, are nothing better than sheep. Blatant bandwagoning if you ask me.

And I must admit that the emotion at the forefront of mind whilst watching the memorial concert debacle certainly was not sorrow. Perhaps despair? Call me a cynic if you wish but I can’t help but think that more than a couple of the ‘stars’ present were merely there to further their own careers. I had completely forgotten one such ‘artist’ even existed until I saw his ridiculously over-emotional display. Bravo sir. Oscarworthy for sure. But what better way is there to earn brownie points on the likeability factor? Positive exposure in the most sickeningly morbid way. A very clever PR move really.

My other major thought whilst watching the outrageously ostentatious tribute was how badly I want that! I defy anyone to say that they wouldn’t want people sobbing into diamante gloves, staring up at a giant picture of you in your greatest hour whilst your glorious coffin sits spectacularly as the perfect gothic centrepiece. How utterly fabulous. MJ I applaud you.

I still wish they would let up with the dedications already. There’s only so many times you can hear ‘Billie Jean is not my love-er’ before you want to bash your head repeatedly on the desk til you reach bone. Trust me.

I'll bring you flowers in the pouring rain

The newest messiah rolled into one

I feel empowered.
I feel inspired.
I feel I could take on the world singlehandedly.
And win.

It's like I've woken up from a lifelong daydream and can finally see things clearly. An epiphany of sorts. So many things I thought I could never do, suddenly seem achievable. The stupid little worries have shifted. I know who I am now. And more importantly, I know where I'm meant to be.

I'm ready to take the next step. Take the plunge. That one thing that could change everything. What is there to lose? I've made my mistakes and learnt from them, so isn't it about time I got some of the good? If you want something bad enough you can do anything. I know exactly what I want and will do anything to get there. Nothing or no-one will stand in my way now.

Just incredibly thankful I'm not doing it alone. And I couldn't ask for a better support sysytem. Together we are strong. We are one.

I realise this makes little or no sense and had absolutely no point to it, but hey this is my first post for a good few weeks. Can't be expecting Chaucer.

Just watch this space bitches.