Dress Horse charging through

Ok, so anyone who knows me well, knows I love dresses. I spend hours and hours and hours (in all honesty), staring at dresses and wondering how much of being in the red I can tolerate, before giving in and buying the dress. It's a viscious cycle and I figure it will only end when the floor collapses under all the weight of my dresses.

I realised yesturday I had a bit of a problem, when looking at President Obama's 2011 christmas card, I immediately recognised the dress his daughter Sasha was wearing, and where she bought it from. Why? Because I literally do spend hours staring at dresses. In fact, I was so sure of myself, I asked the company that makes them, if in fact it was the same dress, and they said yes. I had in the past debated whether I should buy the same dress, but figured after seeing the photo, it suited Sasha's figure more than mine. I'm a beanpole, and she at 13 has annoyingly more curves than me.

When I was younger, I pretty much lived in the baggyest trousers known to man. You could comfortably have fitted three of me in one trouser leg, and probably still had space to shoove a few bricks down there too. I was for a long time the 'grunge' kid. And my gosh did I think I was kool. Looking back, I feel embarassement at having dressed like that. For years I choose not to embrace my femininity, feeling I had to tell the world my music tastes/lifestyle through my clothes. Then one day I realised, no one actually cares, and more importantly, I look ridiculous. Now I suppose I am trying to appease a by gone era and dress how I should be dressed; like a woman.

I may be 5 foot in stature but I am slowly learning the joys of being female, not in a feminist way, but still. It's less of the black and more of the flowers nowadays. Ironically I can't actually stand flowers. It's known that I love gardening, and happily harp on about the things I grow, but my motto is: "If you can't eat it, no point growing it." As such, presenting me with a bunch of flowers won't go down well, but various fruit and vegetable plants...hell yeah :-). I remember one guy actually remembered my distaste for flowers and presented me with some grass... it was nice grass actually, but I wasn't quite sure what to do with it.....

I realised today that I need to stop buying dresses, whether I will actually be active (or rather inactive!) on that stance, remains to be seen. However, I had a thought, why not start a blog on what I wear, and post a picture everyday of my stylish(?) delights. It would be good to find out what suits and doesn't and try and get more creative with what I own, rather than thinking.....new dress time...albeit, it is a wonderful moment when I do have a new dress in my hands :-)

Christmas Cheer

And so it is a month until Christmas. I know this for two reasons. One, someone told me and two because it's that time of year when every comedian worth even a vague pinch of salt is hawking a DVD (or should I say Blu-ray?) of their live stand up show.

However, I did not expect to have my eyes raped by the sight of every single advert on the tube at at many stations on my route to uni, adorned with adverts from just about every comedian out there. I felt slightly naseous, and for the first time ever, welcomed the high volume of haute jewlerry store adverts that line the escaltors at Chancery Lane. I wish I had a better word than adverts, it doesn't seem upmarket enough.

Now, I've seen Jimmy carr live, and ripped my insides with laughter, but would I ever bother purchasing his show? Hell no, because once I've heard the joke and laughed, I doubt I'll repeatedly laugh at the same joke more than twice. So why have your Aunt shell out money on a DVD you'll probably only watch once? I would say download for free, but hey I'm not going to encourage it ;-)



So the solution is simple. Everyone rush out and buy the DVD of their favourite comedian, and then once you've grown tired of the same joke, swap it with a friend. That way you save money, the comedians make money, and you get to hear lots more jokes.

Death comes just 4 times a year

So I am currently dying. My head is achy, my nose is well and truely blocked, I'm not sleeping and life is generally a chore. Yes I am have Man Flu. This I am certain, it's definately not just normal flu, no it's Man Flu, and it's striked me down in the prime of life.

Two nights of no sleep now, and I can feel myself going blind. Yesturday I in all honesty walked into a wall in my delerious state, as my body felt like it wasn't there. So yes it's Man Flu.

Not quite sure what to do, I bundled over to the Boots at Liverpool Street Station, and was rather overwhelmed at the shelf after shelf of cold medicine products. After comparing the ingredients of Sudafed with Boots own brand, I naturally decided to save myself a couple of quid. Along with that I got these little vitamin C tablets... no harm with having a boost every now and then......

After reading the instructions on the back of the vitamin C bottle, it clearly stated "Take one tablet in a glass of water, once a day". Being that I was currently on the Waterloo and City line, I didn't much have a glass to hand. Did contemplate dropping it into my hiker's flask, but decided drinking a litre of orangey substance wasn't great. Then my mind decided, I'll outwit you all and swallow the damn thing. Then I decided to open the packet.. and realised why it said place into a glass of water... It was huge, about the size of a two pence piece and about half a centimetre thick. Huzzah I thought, I'll be even more cunning, I'll just pop the thing in my mouth. Worst decision ever.

Within a nanosecond, this radioactive substance started disintergrating in my mouth.... and turning into foam. And it didn't taste that great either given it was very concentrated. So my mouth was filling with a bright orange foam substance, and there I was on the tube thinking what the fuck am I meant to do. So I started swallowing it, but it just kept coming and coming and coming, I couldn't swallow fast enough. Pausing for literally a few seconds contemplating how I was to get myself out of this rather delicate situation, my mouth was bursting with foam. I looked like a squirrel that had stuffed it's cheeks with nuts. The only course of action was to keep swallowing until the damn thing had completely gone, but it was taking it's sweet time about it, and I was just feeling more and more sick. It certainly took my mind of the whole dying thing for a moment or two.

Finally I arrived at Waterloo and had finished swallowing. I realised I must of looked like I was having a heart attack on the tube, due to the element of surprise this little supplement gave me. Trying to clear out my mouth wasn't fun either.


So I trundled on through the day, wondering just when the grim reaper was about to knock in between the constant sniffing. It wasn't glamourous. I realised the day was going to end pretty quickly, and when I got home from uni, climbed into bed and refused to move, until I realised a dress I had bought in a small size was actually way too big (ahh the joys of internet shopping), and rushed down to John Lewis to get thread. Now, I like to think I know words, I know many many words. But it appeared that I didn't know the word thread or rather happened to have a mindblock at the wrong time. I blame my impending death. I was like to the extremely helpful sales assistant "My dress is too big, I need to make it smaller, I was thinking I could use that string stuff to y'know make it smaller. That stuff made of cotton, that you use to put stuff together." I was trying to describe I needed in a rather bad way, and given that I was dressed like a chav she clearly understood that I had dropped out of school at 11 and that the world had failed me. She immediately knew what I was on about, and took my over to the thread section. Yes THREAD, that's the word! Clearly she sees people like me all the time. She gave me loads of helpful advice and I went on my sweet way.

Feeling such a moron, I climbed back into bed and hoped a night of blissful sleep would come over me. It never came once. Now as I write this, I really wish death would hurry up, because two nights of no sleep isn't fun, coupled with a blocked nose and dizziness.... I have to ask myself.... wish fucker wished me to be ill!

EDIT: Ok so I wrote this article yesturday, and afterwards went on to have that vitamin C supplement. Dropped it into a glass of hot water, damn thing fizzed up everywhere and foamy crap went all over my desk. So today I thought, nah not going to let you beat me this time, and only filled the glass half full with hot water.....damn thing still managed to fizz up everywhere all over my window sill.... I feel my mugs are turning more into cauldrons than anything else....

Quick someone get me a cucumber!

For once I decided on this rather noisy night (I have DeadMau5 blaring out of an amp) I would empty my junk mail. Needless to say there was a ridiculous amount of junk emails concerning the most pressing matter of extending my penis with a so called 'penis pump'. For years one of these adverts has landed in my junk mail every day and not once have I felt the desire to open one, not even out of curiosity mainly for the fear my computer will be riddled with various slugs,snails, viruses, trojans and other annoying pests. That may not happen if I open one, but I have no interest in finding out.

Either way, a rather curious email dropped into my university address which made me think those emails weren't just a load of bullshit where you part with your well earned money, and they send you some hot peppers to rub all over your dick to make the thing swell up and therefore be all 'pumped' up.

Without going into too many specifics they were looking for volunteers (male obviously) who clearly didn't mind getting their cocks out in the name of science, to see why some men are satisfied with the size of their male organs and others not....and more importantly for people who aren't satisifed, treatments to improve their satisfaction. Anyone thinking of that Satisfaction song by Benni Benassi? Nope? Just me then.

The lucky participants would have their penis measured erect and unerect...and assuming there will be no hot nurse about, you are supplied with a porn movie for the latter part. However I'm guessing it will be a male who then measures the length and girth of your shaft, which makes me think that the second that guy walks in, that thing is going to deflate... and quickly. Oh and you get £10 for your help! For those people who aren't happy, they can receive counselling and the use of a penile extender.

All of this makes me wonder, why don't these scienists send out a junk email selling the use of a penis pump, see who responds, and those desperate enough can be included. In my opinion it kills two birds with one stone. The scientists actually get a bunch of guys who are that bothered by the size of their little man they have searched out for answers on the internet, and the men well they may actually feel like men after all the extending!

But surely aren't all men told that it's not about the length...it's what you can do with it that counts ;-)

Pussy Galore

Ok, so anyone who knows me knows how much I love cats. Even just thinking about them brings a huge smile to my face. I secretly wish Diana would put on two stone, because then she would be a huge ball of fluff.

So today I was in Covent Garden as I had a few hours to kill before lectures, and walking down one of the roads I saw some homeless dude with a ridiculosly tapped up guitar and....... a cat! I immediately was smiling and was soo enchanted and well as you can imagine the day was suddenly a lot better. Intrigue eventually got the better of me and I went over and started talking to the dude briefly...more an excuse to just go stroke the cat hehehe. Seriously in all my life I have never seen such a beautifully mannered cat. It was just sitting peacefully in front of it's owner amid the crazyness/busyness of Covent Garden. He seemed to perfectly happy and at peace. Turns out this cat is rather a celebrity around London. Google 'Bob the cat big issue' and you'll see what I mean....

Heros

Well I was thinking about this the other day, for years my hero has been Jeremy Clarkson, but I recently added another name to this prestigious list, and it is *drum roll* Karl Pilkington. I in all honesty do not know why, but he is just so damn awesome. I imagine my life would be a lot more happier if my mind was like Pilkington's.

Oktoberfest - A sobering experience

I got back from Germany today, having been at the Oktoerfest the night before. So now I have certainly done something that appears on numerous bucket lists. Not mine though, I'm not dying of cancer or global warming yet. If I had a bucket list, The Oktoberfest would of definately been on there, along with completing the Annapurna Circuit, and driving the length of the Pan American Highway.

Many people dream of going to this beer festival. A festival dedicated to intoxication! Whatever next? Someone not getting murdered in Midsummer! Either way, it was something that I had always a vague inclination to experience. Mostly so that I can make many connesieurs of beer envious of my trip. It's the thing to do isn't it? I guess that wins me some kool points.

Being in a mass swarm of Lederhosen was a rather fun experience at what is easily a contender for the world's biggest funfair. Rule of thumb dictates that you get drunk go on the numerous rides, throw up, then drag yourself back to a beer hall. The cheering echoing from every corner was only slighted ruined by the sound of ambulances rushing past every few minutes for the many inebriates. Most of whom were collapsed on the floor before the sun was even fully risen. And this was before I had even entered a Beer Hall.

Given that people had been queuing since 7am to get into each of the beer halls (there were loads), we had zero chance of actually getting into one, as we rocked up at like 4pm. But we held the trump card, luckily Matthew had a friend, who had a friend, who had an uncle, who worked in one of the beer halls, so after having been standing around for many hours we finally got into one. Please note, a lot of the festival is just standing around. The beer hall we got into was considered the baby of the beer halls there and therefore held a rather paltry 10000.

More walking around and waiting for a table to become free. It didn't, so we just barged onto one whose occupants had momentarily left, and sat ourselves down. Before I knew it, I was dragged up onto the benches and fearing for my life. My friend who, is, well, a lot bigger than me was jumping up and down like his life depended on it. For the next many hours I just had images of the bench just breaking and many gallons of beer going everywhere.. it was happening around us afterall. So there was little old me jumping up and down on the benches pretending I knew the words to a number of german toasts. However I was saddened to note that that HEEEEEYYYYYY HEEEEEY BABY..OH AHH I WANNNA KNOWWWWWW OHHHHHH IF YOU'LL BE MY GIRL *stab stab*, has not yet died out and was repeatedly played with the entire hall singing along. Oh and YMCA and I will Survive were also popular choices. What did get annoying after a while, was that at the end of every song there was this beer cheer. It got a bit boring after having sung (what I thought were the words- later found out I'd been singing gibberish) the damn thing more times than a googleplex.

Now, one thing I can't stand about the Germans is their weird love for sparkling water (mit gaz). I can't stand the stuff, and I don't see how it is refreshing. Anyways as I am on medication, I couldn't drink beer and because it was absolutely boiling, I asked for a jug of water..... And the woman returned with a 4 pints worth of sparkling water and charged me 7 euros for the 'privelidge'. Suffice to say, a lot of it was left....Seriously, it's like eatting copper.

My sober self did have a lot of fun though, just as much as everyone else! Needless to say, those Germans do know how to put on a good show...even if they do suck at winning certain other things :-)

Flying tips

I watched United 93 last night. I naturally was welling up with emotion. Such a tragic loss, but it did set me off on a loop.

We've all been on planes, and we've all had to sit there whilst the nice lady tells us to evacuate the plane and how to correctly blow into a whistle on a life jacket. All rather tedious and boring. I can't remember when I've got on a plane and actually bothered to listen. I always find the 'helpful' leaflet on how to maintain the brace position and to make sure I am not wearing heels when getting on an inflatable slide rather amusing. I like to think that Tyler Durden was a bit right when he said that the oxygen masks are merely there to make sure we are high in the event of eneviatable death. I'd rather go out high than screaming at the top of my lungs.

Which brings me to my point. Why the hell do they bother giving us life jackets? I can't think of a single air disaster where life jackets have even been used. Why? What use when it comes to a real life situation do they provide? As far as I am concerned the answer is none. Very rarely does a plane hurtling towards the sea land horizontal. Usually the plane sinks to the bottom, in which case you'll find drowning on the death certificates. Which means, these life jackets are only useful when landing and by landing I mean, gently.

When that plane landed in the Hudson, yeah ok, they may of been useful then, but by and large, most of the time, lets say 99% of the time, life jackets are pointless. Usually any sort of air disaster starts off with the plane high in the sky and then comes crashing down. So why the hell give us life jackets? It assumes that planes are constantly over water and are not going to be crashing into the ground. Most air disasters happen over land, which immediately makes a life jacket redundant. There is no point calling them a life vest when they are more likely to be the last thing the person is wearing when their body is found.

So I had a thought, why not provide something more useful? Like a parachute, or a modified version. At least that is going to give people a bit of hope before they go through the pearly gates at 600mph. At least a parachute can be useful on water and land. Of course attach some sort of bounacy aid, in case of a water landing, but it at least gives this new life vest a chance.

With a parachute, you can jump out regardless of the situation and have a better chance of survival. Sure, people would need to be trained in how to use them, but it's simmple. Hurtle towards the ground (screaming if you want), until a built in guage tells you it's safe to deploy it. Then roll when you hit the ground... simples.

Ok sure, you may say, you'll pass out when you are really high in the sky, but I'd rather that, than watch the ground get bigger at a ridiculous speed in my window whilst I am strapped into a chair. At least then, I felt like I actually make a concious effort and took responsibility for myself rather than in the hands of some pilot I don't even know the name of.

You may come back at me with, but I may get sucked into the engine, but hey these are all maybes, but at least it's not a certainty, unlike your certain to die if you stay in a plane going two times the speed of sound, hurtling through the sky, with it's nose aimed at the ground.

Please mind the gap

So I was originally going to write a post about how I get annoyed at morons who stand on the wrong side of the escalators. The ones, who stand there, look around and see a queue standing behind them, and in front of them the escaltor is empty. It surprises me how the little neurons in their heads don't fire up, and give a response of "I'm a total jack ass clearly these people are in a rush, they are Londoners of course, I'd better be useful and move the fuck over!". Now everyone behind him is thinking why is he not moving the fuck over!

I experience this all the time, and I can't imagine England is the only country that has escalators on the underground. I know for a fact they have escaltors on at least the Montreal metro. Now a tourist can't plead pig ignorance, because this same simple norm is repeated in Montreal too, and therfore I've decided is repeated the world over. Well we Englishmen are known to be able to create a line even when a line isn't needed, so in some more barbaric countries this act of courtesy may not extend there... I'll say the USA purely because it's a pretty screwed up place anyways. It's simple, stand on the right if you want to pretend you aren't a scummy Londoner who rushes everywhere, and run/walk on the left if you think your time is too precious to have to wait a whole minute for a tube.

So yesturday I went to meet some friends, and I felt like I wanted to shoot myself. Not because my friends are that soul killing, no the tube was a nightmare. London has got to be one of the most depressing places on earth during rush hour. Using the tube during this frenzy has got to be one of the worst ways I spend my time. What annoys me is that your packed in so tightly, yet some blonde haired bitch seems to think this is the best place to read a book. And obviously she can't have the book shooved in her face, so of course she extends her arm to a distance that suits her comfortably, while all the people around her would rather shoove the book up her. Seriously, the train is massively packed, and they want to read?? It's find if your sitting down, but not when you are standing up and 20 people are within your personal space, one of them being me.

Also, all the tube lines have their various colours. So why is the Central Line (Aka the red one on a tube map), replacing the red seats with blue ones???

Domestic Goddess? Nah- I'll pass you on!

For the first time in my life, laziness has actually screwed me over and I am not proud....my favourite dress is now lying in some landfill site in Newham.

I've managed to get through life being pretty lazy. I can count on one hand the number of times I have made a bed, and the same goes for having used a washing machine. Sadly I can't feine ignorance, I do know how to do both these things, but luckily the magic pixie fairies do these things for me. I made my bed twice in the first year of university. Yup twice, and I didn't even bother getting an undersheet for many months, it was only after a friend kept saying it was disgusting that I got one. I can make a bed, I just don't want to. Given that I am the only person sleeping in that bed too, I don't see why I should bother making it if it doesn't bother me. Being a domestic goddess could be my forte, if I cared.

So I get back from my travels around Canada and The USA and of course, after nearly two months EVERYTHING has to go into the wash. Que me walking around in cocktail dresses for a few days, and clothes that clearly hadn't seen the light of day in years. And with good reason to.

So on the rare occasion I am sitting there in the living room, enjoying a bit of Friends on the old soap box, there I see it. Looking into the conservatory, a whole row of dripping wet clothes, all hung up, and all purple. YES Purple! Everything was dyed purple!!! I run into there and see to my utter horror that it included my favourite, extremely delicate, very expensive dress!

Employing the knowledge I had of bleach, I ran out to spend a whole 91p on the cheapest bottle of bleach in Co-Op, and come back to fill a bucket with boiling hot water, and half a bottle of the stuff and dropped one of the dresses in. Now, I told friends my plans and they believed it wouldn't work. Well I can safely say, my once white dress that went a horrible shade of mauve is now whiter than white, even if it does smell very much of lime zest bleach!

So here comes the crux, the all important using of the washing machine. I pretty much figured my favourite dress in the whole wide world couldn't be saved, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to do justice to it, and damn well try! I did the only thing I could think of (which turns out to be wrong), and shooved it back in the washing machine on the hottest setting possible and ran several cycles until I admitted defeat. Yes, I used a washing machine, all by myself! No I did not fill the room with soapy suds (I did however use a ridiculous amount of vanish so the entirety of the washing machine drum was filled with bubbles with one single flimsy dress swimming around in it), no I did not have water draining all over the floor, and no the colour of my dress did not improve.

So adios fine friend, I shall lament the many great memories we shared :-(

Stars

I am very much a city girl. I live in London. I live in a very polluted city, and as any Londoner will tell you, we don't get stars.

I sat outside on my own by the lake in La Motte tonight. That in itself was rather beautiful, watching the sky get darker, and the waves quickly but silently hitting the edge. It was so peaceful. Well maybe, I had music blasting out of my laptop.

I went out a lil later with just a torch, and omg there were so many stars! I could see a satellite going across the sky and a shooting star! How lucky am I! I never get to see those things. The last time was 4 years ago in Argentina! There were so many stars it was truely beautiful.

It makes me feel so humble.

It has now been a year since Michael's death.

A year ago, I said to myself there is no way I would ever step foot in Texas...

Well somehow, not only did I step foot in Texas, but I ended up being here on his anniversary! And I am here for one night only... what are the chances!

I feel sadness that he is gone, and anger at how fucked up Texas is, and the court system.

But I am happy he is in a better place.

But that doesn't mean I don't miss him, or let a day go by where he isn't thought of.

He was innocent. But if his death sparks positive changes in the criminal system, then he wouldn't of died in vain.

karma

I hurt someone really close to me a while ago. Someone who loved me and was willing to do anything to make me happy. He was perfect and never did anything wrong. He didn't deserve what I did to him, and he never will.

I abused the responsibility I had over someone's emotions and will forever regret that. It's not nice to be treated appallingly when you have not deserved it.

I suppose right now karma is doing the same thing back to me. I did nothing wrong and have been treated like shit for it. You try to be nice and good and don't make the same mistakes but karma will still bite you. I know how it feels to be hurt when you didn't warrant it.

worth.

I keep having to be reminded about how much I am worth. Not that I don't think I am not worth much. But every now and then I forget. I know I am priceless and as such deserve the best, and shouldn't settle for anything less.

A very wise relative reminded me that you shouldn't make excuses for people. If someone believes and knows you are worth the effort then they will make it....

I get given tonnes of advice all the time, it's no surprise that I am not very good at making decisions about things.

I am lucky to be sourrounded by a great bunch of people who clearly care about me, my happines and overall general wellbeing. I am grateful that they make time to go out of their way to help me, and I am forever indebted to them.

I am grateful to be sourrounded by a lot of love and great friendships.

21

So I turned 21.

Not that it bothers me that much, or was I that excited or anything..

But it did get me thinking.

I've never known my mother, so I can't help but wonder if she makes an attempt to remember me, or if she remembered it was my birthday.

I've never met my three sisters. I don't know anything about them at all. Not their names or ages or anything. So I wonder how many times over I am an aunt, and how many nieces or nephews I have. I wonder too, if my sisters remember me, and they remembered my birthday. I wonder sometimes whether any of my nieces or nephews are aware of my existance, and if so, what do they know?

Michael

It's a weird thing death.

It's more than just the absense of someone. It's like the absense of a routine.

I never met Michael, but that doesn't mean he was less than a friend.

He was a good friend, he was someone I could confide in, and he would usually tell me how much of a fool I am being.

It's a weird feeling to know your friend is dead. To mourn for them, to feel sad and cry sometimes. But at the same time, it's someone you have never met. But they were still a friend.

It's weird because the only connection that shows they are gone, is the absense of letters.

It's a shit feeling to know that the hand or typist that wrote all the letters you've kept is no longer there. It's surreal.

I've got friends in prison, and lord knows that my thoughts are constantly on them, wondering how they are doing, whether they are feeling ok. I've not heard from Paul in a while, and he usually writes back stupidly quick. I worry that something has happened to him, but I have no way of finding out. How can you worry about someone you've never met?? It sounds and feels bizarre, but either way I have a bond with him. Granted, Polunsky is probably on lockdown, it generally seems to always be, so I hope that's the reason.

I walk around with a permanent reminder of Michael on my wrist. He's someone who should never be forgotten. I don't wear it as a way for me to avoid forgetting him, I wear it with pride. The pride I have for an awesome but late friend.

I get sad not just for him, but for the whole fucked up system.

It's such a weird thought death. I was lying in bed the other day, and the idea of death and the idea of one day me being dead one day fully hit me. It was such an odd but sad feeling to comprehend. One day I will die. I've said these words countless times to myself, but they've only actually propagated through once. Right now, as I write this, I can't feel what I felt that day, cos it was such a fleeting moment.

For someone like Michael, watching that day approach, just some day on anyone else's calender, fuck knows frankly. Fuck knows.

Waking up, KNOWING there is no tomorrow. Fuck knows.

Y'know what.
Today I ran home from the station.
I felt free.
Free for the first time in a long time.
My legs were going like crazy,
I had the wind in my face
and I was free.
I was free from everything.
I was running
and running
and everything seemed ok.
Because I was free.

Purity.

When we come into this world we are pure. We are as pure as the sun on the horizon, we are so innocent, uninfiltrated by anything. It's soo beautiful.

A baby is so innocent, nothing has yet to damage it. Thoughts have yet to mould us. We merely exist. How beautiful is that?

How beautiful would it be to go back to a time, when we had no worries, no responsibilities, were completely carefree, and devoid of all struggles mental and physical?

How beautiful would that be? A clean, unspoilt canvas.