LARKS IN THE GARDEN

Me after crying for centuries.

How was your weekend? Unfortunately I had to dump my boyfriend AND kick him out of my apartment before he decided to come back at me with any regretful, loved up words (or his penis). And then I got dressed the fuck up in an "Alexis Mabille" dress and danced myself skinnier and far far happier. So now everything is fine. For now.

Me, Alexis Mabille's spirit and my sister (guess how old she is!)

I have to say...the one good thing about a rocky relationship when you're a writer is all the stories it produces. Wrote a great deal this morning.

And now some music. This song always relaxes me, and helps me make believe I am alone on Spanish cobbled streets:

IȾ iϟ Ẇrittɇn.

HALF OF THE TIME WE'RE GONE BUT WE DON'T KNOW WHERE

This is a big one...(oh, and I actually wrote it today, the 16th, rather than the 11th but it was a draft from before...not that it matters)

Ah, yes, April, the month of fools. This is a picture of what I thought was probably the last smile of mine for April as hours later reality punched me in the face. I scattered my salary across Dubai Mall like the ashes of someone you thought couldn't die fast enough into the Atlantic Sea. Kiddos, my wallet is so badly bruised that the office was in shock yesterday to see me join them in the kitchen with a cup of noodles that I pulled from my new office drawer stash - 'you finally caught on; life in Abu Dhabi is deceptively expensive. Welcome!' Hey, well at least I make broke look good with my caged stilettos, studded Zara jacket, H&M skinnies with leather knees and shameless copy of the Wang/Farrow sunglasses; cuppa noodles never looked this sexy.

To put salt on the rim and a lemon wedge on top of that, The Fox and I have been apartment hunting - yes, I know; it's way too soon. We should at least have a pregnancy scare first haha. But what can I say? For me, 2010 is all about going with my gut feeling. In fact, we visited one seriously perfect candidate last night and I have to say, it literally hurts my heart the way they go about leasing these things here. You're expected to pay the full year up front. I imagine that right now you're grabbing your pockets and wincing the way guys tense up and pass a hand near their crotch when something really bad happens to a character's penis in a movie. Maybe, since this blog is starting to gain a lot more interest, I should get you guys to sign a petition for me to get it down to at least 4 payments a year. Seal that with a kiss, et voila. I'm adorable enough to get away with it, right? We'll see; because the way I've sort of quietly nudged this topic into family dinner conversation, the parental unit is not at all pleased and I may have to take matters into my own hands.

Also, since I can't own a Mercedes G-Class Off-roader (although technically I can own anything I say I can, says my hypnotherapist) another thing I could see myself spending a small fortune on this year is a Jeep Wrangler Sport in Rescue Green, which for some reason has been conveniently presenting itself all over town these last couple weeks. I hailed one once like a cab just to see if my mind was powerful enough yet that it would stop, eject its passenger, ever so slightly recline the seat to suit and start playing Empire of the Sun. But no, not yet; my mind still has a long way to go.

No more weekly quirky nail colour applications from my lovely Filipino gal pals next door.

As if I didn't feel milked already, I now have an udder on my head; a souvenir from my brother who just made his first trip to Turkey. He's very pleased with himself too. He's going away to college soon in Canada and I felt that if I bought him an iPod nano (he's never owned an MP3 Player and we've already hit 2010) that I would get something really great back in return for my selfless act. I got udders. But I jest; I didn't expect anything major back from him; from the forces that be, maybe. Ever since I started doing hypnotherapy, I've realised something very simple about the world and the energy we share in it. Think of a revolving clothesline with clean and dirty laundry on it. The more clean clothes I put out on it to dry, the more dry, clean clothes than dirty should come back around on it to me. And if dirty laundry is coming round the bend, I don't have to pick it up; it's my choice what I decide to gather and put out. I think that's the best way to describe it.

I could probably call my life right now by the same title but no unfair moment lasts forever. Unfair is a new magazine in Abu Dhabi that's actually based in Paris, and I was thinking of sending over my CV just for the hell of it, as it's fashion and all and at the moment I write about everything from the best nurseries in the city to where you can sample camel pizza. Don't get me wrong, I love my job to bits and pieces but it would be nice to get that one step closer to the perfect scenario; and as you're probably aware, perfect scenario for me means making a living writing while being comfortably seated at one of the best tables in fashion heaven. So instead of seeking outside help to achieve this, I threw some freshly washed linens onto the clothesline. I proposed a fashion section to my editorial team and it looks like...*cue Travis Barker on the drums*...I am now head of fashion at our magazine! So much to do to prepare! So much to wear and to see worn!

What's more is I am supposed to be throwing my first sale event next month - as frequent readers may already know, I've been investing a little money into rounding up some unique and cute pieces I find on my travels (and in obscure shops around town) for my own mini business and it's been going really well. But as the deadline draws nearer, I don't think I've gathered enough for a full wine and cheese event so I may just do some wardrobe spring cleaning and sell a few items secondhand as well. A studio apartment simply won't be able to hold all this clothes anyway.


And then here's me in a magazine itself! Kind of beyond embarassing but it's funny because in the photo we can see my new Samsung Corby mobile phone which was stolen that very same day on my way home from work (I'm pretty sure this was in April too). I bought it 6 days before that. Now because my hypnotherapist has been diligently implanting positive thoughts into my mind as I sit in the deepest darkest depths of it in search of The Uber Kara, prior to sessions I would've said 'FUCK MY LIFE' or sung 'More Money, More Problems' then holed up in my room with a bottle from my parent's cabinet and put myself to sleep to some Doom Metal. But I don't believe in saying things like this anymore because believe me, it really is mind over matter and so far, despite all this, somehow my life has been going amazingly.


So what's on the agenda for today? I've already foolishly decided against Muay Thai this morning and my body (which has been very keen to become Lady Gaga's recently) is not pleased for the break in the slightest, so up next (if The Fox will take my calls) is some big beach party on another island just off Abu Dhabi. My friend the English Russian lives on a boat and so he might be taking a couple of folks over, feeding us, boozing us up and entertaining us with silly BDSM jokes first though, which the party promoters aren't! I know; I've already given myself a pat on the back for choosing the right friends!

TAKE A SABBATICAL

I was seriously going to stay true to my resolution of posting more of my style by posting today's office wear but then Nadia and Cam of DI$COUNT uploaded this amazing dress-up sequence...

SIGHS ALL AROUND!

PS. Speaking of other people's style, did a new KC post finally...on man style. OOH! AND LOOK! New Patti Smith news!

I DON'T WANNA BE FRIENDS

Dear Dirty Reader,
I hate to do this to you...really...

...but it just won't. Fucking. Budge. And. I've. Been. Stomping. Around. My. House. Zombie. Style. And. Nonsense. Ga-ga-lore...

...she should hire sexy submissives (a la Gwen's Harajuku Girls)...stripper slaves...yeah...(oh, pick me, pretty please).

YOU CAN UNTRAIN YOURSELF TO NOTICE

Random picture of me today, bored out of my skull after an interview with a magazine editor, and on my way to the massive Dubai Mall for this Grazia X Banana Republic sale and fashion event. Never made it because I never got the memo about Dubai making it virtually impossible to pick up a taxi between the hours of 4 and 6pm, and the one about the buses not accepting any money whatsoever. Also got extremely lost following signs to a non-existent metro station, then settled myself near the valet man at a nearby hotel in the hopes that he and his team could find me a taxi, which they couldn't. Called for one to come get me. Called back 30 minutes later and they had apparently given up on me. Finally shoved a guy out of one when they pulled up, and headed to the sole Wagamama in Dubai where I ate my usual dish (except half the size) and thought of my Wagamama frenzied friends back in London. Hadn't eaten squat all day so also ordered a side and copious wine, then headed to Trader Vic's tiki bar upstairs, where I would recommend the after dinner cocktail called White Cloud, which probably beats any dessert platter any day; AND it was happy hour, so indulged in 2 at half price before heading home. Taxi man had to wake me when we got to the station (as dessert drinks had totally nailed, not just hit, the spot), then ran for my life to catch the 2 hour bus home to Abu Dhabi. Now home watching VH1 and sipping green tea and thinking how miserable this all was.

On another note, OMG The XX is on VH1 in the Middle East - recognise their voices anywhere! Well done, kids!....but seriously, someone send me back to London. At least over there the Wagamama is a decent size, the buses take my shit coins and I can at least have a skinny boy with beautiful hair in my arms by the end of a miserable night.

YOU COULD BE MINE

Um, so this is new. To my fellow readers, I am aware that you expect certain standards from me and this breaks most of them but I've been worrying over this post for ages, and as the song says, it's time to face up to your fears.

Okay, so Rihanna has always been on my background radar but for different reasons and now it seems I have something that we can probably validly call an obsession. Maybe. Okay, yes. Every time 'Run This Town' comes on MTV, my brother never fails to point out that the Illuminati is taking over the music industry and that Rihanna (and her new-found dark aesthetic) has recently become a brainwashed member of it. He says (and others have preached this to me before, for reasons I have no clue!) that Jay-Z (and Madonna) particularly have sold their souls to the devil in return for fame and success and that is why they keep sky-rocketing in their careers, and he says that Rihanna, her black lipstick, her SM costumes and her shaved head have become recent recruits. He says this is also what Tupac was running from, and it's evident in his lyrics. Rapper Omarion has even made speculations, among others. This may very well be true but...this appears to be the only reason I click to visit RihannaDaily.com at least 3 times a week now, cuz umm...her new evil stylist Mariel Haenn has her lookin' off the chain! I mean, I've always been a recruit for the dark side of fashion and seeing a black Caribbean "icon" portray that a little more than semi-successfully means I'm basically taking notes.

Now to elaborate on the song and her new music (her songs have Slash solos now?!) - well, I hate pretty much everything else she's sung (and that's purely personal taste, might I add for those friends back home who think I am just a hater - I was, now I'm not)but this song has just stuck for the last week (and I was listening to it way before it aired; it leaked). I just feel like since she's 'shaken hands with Satan' we're much closer to each other now, somehow. Yes, you interpreted that the wrong way - I'm not a satanist, maybe a dark aesthete but the closest I've come to the devil is a Dimmu Borgir or Satyricon album, or maybe The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Anyway, my point is I completely GET these lyrics and they've sort of become branded on my chest - it's exactly the way I feel right now in my life. There are decisions I have to make and things I have to cut loose from and it's scary as fuck. And it's kind of been helping me toughen up. Maybe facing up to your fears and becoming successful, happy and invincible now correlates with being evil. Basically, I'm cool with that.
...
..
.
But then, my sister doesn't listen to her either and we're both belting out this song, and my mother was caught copying Rih's dancing and middle fingering in the 'Run This Town' video, to the absolute Satan-fearing horror of my theory obsessed brother - maybe it is subliminal messaging. Oh well. To conclude, Mariel Haenn is doing a good job and I shamelessly like this song. Again, sorry for posting this.

SHAME AND FORTUNE

Just catching up on The Selby, STILL one of my favourites on the www.

Where do I get this clock?!

I actually have heart palpitations sometimes when browsing this site. It just kills me that I still don't own my own space that I can clutter with trashy glamour and thousands of books. I need this to happen. now.

Going to get ready for a wine and cheese thing now.

HOT ON THE TRACKS OF THE NIGHT

So the lyrical headers are back, and so am I. I've been working non-stop this whole week so that should explain my lack of posts. I apologize. But today was a good day. I did only things that I fancied doing, smiled, sat and spent my own hard-earned money at my own leisure on frivolous little things that made me happy for an hour. And now, instead of spiraling into my usual sleepy 10 o'clock depression over what crisp shirt to wear, lesson plans and disgustingly early mornings, I am celebrating the nonthingness of tonight's schedule by nursing the blog and a glass of red. Before that, I ate salmon sashimi for dinner over some fiction, and before that I rented a bike for an hour and rode along the glittery water-front while listening to:

Regarding The XX's new/debut(?) album - not feeling it, which is a shame because the first time I saw them years back at Hoxton Square Bar and Kitchen, I was musical putty and instantly wanted to have a three-way snog session with both vocalists (particularly Romy) (not that three-way snogging is remotely sexy/fun). I must've spent at least 3 odd posts raving about them on my old blog - they were that good. And I personally think the new album is missing their whole point completely, if I can even claim to know their point to begin with, but I think I can). And yet, it is one of those bands I just can't shake for the life of me, and so I am sure that if I DO go back to London before year end as intended, I will no doubt find myself awkwardly close to the stage ogling them once more (and this makes me want to curse).

It took me a really long time to write this post. I remember opening it talking about how lovely my day was, just fucking around in my own little world. To conclude, however, all I really have to say is that I feel pathetic and irrelevant, especially since my sister and her friends (who are at a party) just called and asked if I could cover for one of the girls if her father calls by saying I am on an overseas call so dial another number to find her.

Also the scanner isn't co-operating tonight so I can't do my next post.

And why is Dubai Fashion Week an invitation only event?

And why am I in possession of all this money with no one to spend it on/with?

Okay. Sorry. Leaving.

I'M ONE STEP FORWARD AND THREE STEPS BACK

Panda still hasn't offered to marry me so, not only is today the day I leave Los Angeles, but it's also the day of Kill City's launch party for their collaboration with I-shit-you-not Brian Lichtenberg!! Lauren, who works at the Melrose store, told me about it ages back so I already died 9 times over my loss. I just thought it would be nice to leave you trendy LA-ists with a little Friday evening gift (so you can't say I'm a bitch for all the flaunting I do about getting free shit from them). Anyways, here are the deets:

Today's been crazy. Panda and I shopped for secondhand furniture for his new place, he took some shots of me for Kill City, I panicked and packed, stocked up on septum piercing jewelry, and we gorged ourselves on sushi. We just came back from watching The Surrogates for kicks, then snuck into the midnight showing of Zombieland (also for kicks, and also where I started to cry over having to leave him). Now we have the luxury of sleeping for 4 hours before we rent a van, pack it with his shit and move it to his new place, have sex, cry and say goodbyes at Terminal 'Long-Distance-Blows'.

I'm also arriving the day after this huge bash my mom's been planning since before I left for L.A.. The only thing I CAN say I won't be missing is Dubai and Abu Dhabi Fashion Week and my brother's birthday on the 4th. Seriously different adventures to come soon at A Dirty Word. See you soon in a different time zone (isn't it always?).

I TREAT YOU LIKE A JOKE BUT YOU CAN'T TELL WHEN I'M JOKIN'

Today sucked balls! Didn't get to go to Kill City, realised at the last exorbitant minute that the Yeah Yeah Yeah's were in town touring (this is the 2nd bloody time the YYYs have done this to me, in 2 separate continents - I think I need a gigs drip in my arm and I think they need to supply it). Also my friend Dulce, who just moved here from Italy, and who I haven't seen yet, cancelled on dinner tonight in town, which means I am all dressed up in lots of random green for no goddamned reason but to share salty bits with a pack of Wheat Thins. I took my ipod for a 40 minute walk this morning though and proceeded to watch an old season of America's Next Top Model then stopped after my girl of choice made it nowhere past the double doors of the model loft. Everyone else was ugly or had a Bostonian accent (my finger is down my throat).

Anyway, I did manage to take some appalling bathroom shots yet again. I'm starting to like it. I'm also starting to like rich, royal greens in my wardrobe. The blazer is new, from the Cobra Snake yard sale. And those converse haven't gotten wear in years.

and have some sad spoof

HATE TODAY! (September 11th)

BODY OF LIES

All my girlie bits are seemingly healthy. I guess it's just that Cerazette isn't a very loving pill. But, a mon avie, it looks like I'll be having a demon child for Christmas. And yet, new French gyno informed me, in her effortlessly sleepy-sexy manner, that I have nothing to worry about. Trust, I shall.

My mom told me not to post my breasts and vagina on the internet. She says it's none of anybody's business.

Anyway, didn't end up going to the Sophomore Pop-Up Store Opening Reception last night. Just couldn't be arsed to put on THAT face for the evening and remain unnoticed among a see of girls in American Apparel, just ready and waiting to step on a catwalk. As I was heading upstairs to shower, I could only picture myself at the event swigging less than half-heartedly from a can of Red Bull (still sober, can you believe!?) and mentally willing my legs not to crumple beneath me in their Topshop hooker heels. Plus, food seems to be priority these days, which means, me and bulges A through Q can't be seen at killer events like that, and only at Walmart. So all through Friday and Saturday, I banished carbs.

Speaking of food, it's Ramadan now. Last year, I fasted because I was back home in the UAE and it's so much easier to do there obviously. Firstly, I have no life there so my days consist of snoozing. Secondly, everyone's doing it so you get pressured into it because seeing perfect arabic women not eating a scrap makes you feel pretty fucking obese. Thirdly, the food can't compare to California and fourthly, even if it could, you couldn't order or buy a single morsel, and aren't allowed to eat in public til after 6pm. By that hour, I'm back on snooze number 2. So I partook in fasting, in a weird, anorexic sort of way that made me feel accomplished. I also love how their days are tailored around the fact that they can't eat. Businesses close up, school is scarce...really, you can't go wrong during Ramadan in Abu Dhabi, which only makes me respect my muslim friends from back home in Trinidad even more; dealing with us munching away in front of them during lunch, and yet, still hanging around us without fainting. But anyway, I'm not about to elaborate on that...

I love that I am in charge of a space where the essays can range from breast and cervical cancer to fashion to anorexia to islamic culture to effortlessly embarassing myself...

I think I'm just getting way too used to writing in short 140 character spurts on Twitter, hence this wayward monologue. The intended conclusion of the post was that, last I checked (July), I don't have breast or cervical cancer.

Logging out.

BROKEN BONES AND EXPOSED HEARTS

Just remembering a moment (the first Hoodoo Voodoo party ever).
I miss London.
A little more than a little.
Especially Fi and Becks.
Keep the bed warm for me, guys. I'll be back soon. X

FOR EVERY PERSON I'VE TRIED TO BE THERE'S ANOTHER DEAD INSIDE

I'm in Vegas. We just spent an embarassingly alcohol-infused weekend at the presidential suite at Suncoast and now I'm watching Teen Titans with Panda's 5 year old nephew, and of course, Raven was all I sucked up.

I'm wishing I could OD on a cup of halo halo (and believe me, one cup will do it), as well as wishing I hadn't flipped off everyone at Panda's birthday party during a gruelling round of King's Cup (in obvious laughing jest, but apparently not) and offended several family members and friends. And still, I've got a week left of Mother and Sister Panda time that all leads up to the climactic event at the week's end, otherwise known as Panda's cousin's wedding; and more pressingly, the wedding reception (for which I will be looking smashing, while being bashed behind my back about whether or not I will get that smashed again). It's very distressing; especially with the colour and culture issues annoyingly peek-a-booing all over the place.

But what can I do about it at this stage but keep a brave and pretty face and NOT pull out my PVC mini skirt.

AND THE HARDEST PART WAS NOT LETTING GO NOT TAKING PART

This is my dog Rigby. Well, my brother's. He asked for him for his 18th birthday. He came into our lives in October 2008 as a frantic little puppy that I thought had popped a couple MDMA. But no, that was not his case. He was just an awesome fuckin' puppy. He pissed everywhere and ate my socks, but it was pure love.

I was busy sleeping my life away when he came into my room to wake and greet me this afternoon, along with my brother at the other end of the leash. He promptly started chewing on my neon pink flip flops. I tossed my sheets and my hair and stared at him thinking how much I loved him. They had just returned from the vet's seeing about his bum leg. Despite his manic bounds and leaps around the house to attack my mom's newly bought plants decorating the foyer, he's still been in a great deal of pain. Running is no problem; he just can't walk very well. And when I take him outside to use the bathroom, he sometimes ends up pissing on himself because he can't raise the bum leg, and if he raises the other, the bum leg can't support his back weight. So...it just really fucking sucks.
This is my dog Rigby. My father can't pay for the surgery. It's just way out of his budget right now. They're going to put him down. So if you live in Dubai or Abu Dhabi and don't want to see this happen and think it's in your power to do something about it, please write me. It would mean so much to me. I just can't let that happen right now. I won't be able to take it.

LICKING LIT MATCHES

Maybe I have a skewed view of the world but these are two pretty things I found on The Selby this morning at 9AM. I'm really looking forward to the day I rake in enough to have my own place, and just get it fitted with the most hideous pretty things. Like, OMG, who is the artist for above left??

Yes, I have noticed the change around here. There is a lack of fashion lately and more of an emphasis on my life. That's good. I'm so relieved. I like that.

Panda and I nearly broke up last night. I'm trying to wonder what I'll do with my saved lumpsome if that happens. No, I actually won't go shopping. I'm sick of shopping. It makes me want to vomit. After I clear out all this stuff and leave here, I'm never turning back. Minimalist, expensive (I also welcome cheap) and timeless once-in-a-lifetime pieces, black, white, grey, silver, gold, purple. C'est tout.

I found this really cool very very part time job on Craigslist the other day while browsing options for more money while in L.A.. Typing for this film director while he dictates a script. 2 hours a day. $11 an hour. I did't apply for it though. Everything's set in my head but it's all just still so uncertain on the outside. California's there, the money's there, the ticket isn't. My dad, who's gonna get me the 90% discounted ticket, is off doing Alaska and his wife on some cruise. He says when I get there (Abu Dhabi) in June, we'll talk about it. I don't really know what there is left to talk about after two years of supplying me with tickets to see the same guy. Yes, I sleep on the same bed as him. Even the relationship's there in my head..but is it really? I don't know what's going on but it doesn't feel good. And it's not a hangover, so WHAT THE FUCK IS IT?!

After we got our college photo taken and knocked back as many disgusting free glasses of champagne as possible in an hour (7 - I think more could be had in an hour but it was that bad), we walked over to this small classroom for a fiction/poetry/performance art reading that some friends of mine were hosting and taking part in. Good bunch. Le Vampyre bought me a pint of Snakebite and I got a couple of my books sold. Heading to the doctor this morning to present them with my food diary logged over the last 3 weeks and another cup of piss. Don't really feel like it's the best day to hear that I'm killing myself but I never liked Fridays anyway.

PETRIFIED

TO FUCKING DIE FOR! From here. Bitch is talented. Pay her a visit.

I am sick as a dog. It is nearly 7am; just waiting for the little shop down the street to wrench itself open so I can buy some sort of drug and K.O. back into bed. I should not (what I really want to say is I won't) be blogging again until I have 1200 words of my Business of Writing essay down the chute, and until the two bar reviews I am working on are complete. I cannot even describe to you how I feel right now. OHMYGOD, I gotta go.

ONLY SO EAGER TO PLEASE

I just thought it extremely funny that pastry chef pierre herme has this up on his wall at home (from the Selby). I hope that when I 'make it' I don't start framing manuscripts and Hanif Kureishi's latest novels.

You know what else I find funny? That I just realised that I mentioned style.com (the home of Vogue) in a Tatler interview. That explains the dead air between us all these past weeks. Luckily, I don't look back when it comes to these fashion mag jokers, and am fast on the back of some other editor.

This day so far has been a series of diversions. Forever trying to avoid this Business of Writing essay, I fooled myself into believing that going to Starbucks for breakfast would give me that needed stamp of approval to get on with the day's tasks. So I left the house (can I add, looking like shit?)

Policeman: Please walk some other way ma'am. This is a crime scene.
Me: Okay
(story of my neighbourhood)

Me: Excuse me, where are we going?
Busdriver: This bus has been diverted, ma'am.
Me: Are you not telling me where we're going because you've hijacked the bus and are luring us all to our deaths? I'm the youngest person on here and Dazed and Confused just told me they might give me some work experience, which means, I'm at the start of something here. Can I get off?
(haha- not really. but the busdriver SO didn't tell us the route changed, not that all the placid smiling geriatrics even noticed - for some reason our university is smack in the middle of a haven for old/chavvy/lunatic people)

Anyways, regardless of the route change, there's a Starbucks practically stationed outside every bus stop in town, so lucky me. Unlucky for everybody else. This bus diverted and chose to ignore the entire Dover House Road due to road works. And Dover House Road is disgustingly long, dude....And for some reason, only old people live on it. And for some reason, this bus is the ONLY bus that travels up and down it. And for some reason this road ONLY has houses on it; not one little shop, so it's like they give all these old people freedom passes to use for the bus but make sure they have to keep using the fuck out of it. Is it some kind of higher plan to keep London's old people on the go and out of our hair quicker due to heart failure? I don't know...stay tuned...

Got my iced chai tea latte and granola bar (<---this shit is good), home now, went back outside to see if checking for mail at the front desk would make me motivated when I got back inside. Didn't. Blogging? We'll see. But I doubt it. Facebook had nothing new for me by the time I came back, so I'm thinking I should take a nap to give it some time to gather a couple notifications and a message from my boyfriend maybe...all of which may or may not cheer me up/motivate me to open up that dreaded essay document.

Reviewing a bar/club in Richmond tonight and may meet some friends there. This job really is a double-edged sword. I get paid to go out but who wants to leave the house when you look and feel like Satan's asshole? There are just some nights when you know no guys are gonna approach you and offer to buy you drinks. Tonight is gonna be one, thus forcing me to open my wallet for a change. And then you know what? Compensation I get for reviewing the bar would only be me getting back the money I had to spend on my own goddamned drinks.

You know what else is a double-edged sword? Blogging. It's liberating, it gets all the toxic junk out of the membrane, it may or may not be writing practice and build my confidence as a writer, but then someone's just gonna come along and say 'hey, I read your blog and...' and then you go through the last couple posts you wrote, picturing them at home reading it, and it just...all comes crashing down. Like oh my god...why are you reading about my love for bondage, acquaintance? The last time you saw me I wore a frilly top and smiled bashfully. On a more serious disadvantage, I could never get a job with a magazine in this town ever again, the way I go slashing them to shreds on here. Luckily, I don't plan to be a part of this town for much longer.

For some reason Panda goes ballistic when I say it (because he takes it personally) but today I hate my life (sorry, luv).

THE UNCHANGED AND THE UNCHANGEABLE

Panda and I are on a break.

WEDNESDAY:
Interview at Yoga Magazine
Movie 'hang' at friend's flat (drink)

THURSDAY:
Lunch at TGIF for friend's re-re-scheduled birthday (drink)
Escape to Catford to see cousin and new baby

FRIDAY:
Knock on Bob Marley's aunt's door with my tape recorder in hand and try to get her to let me in with my Caribbean accent
Get dragged off by cousin to some club called Ink (drink)

SATURDAY:
Back to London
21st Birthday Party for Becks at The Big Chill House (drink)

SUNDAY:
Check out the Japanese Art Festival in Richmond for a bit
Friend's birthday hang in Central (drink)

BE PERILOUSLY SAD. AND DRUNK.

P.S. They changed my picture on the Kill City page (no. 6). I don't prefer it face-wise but that's the shirt they sent me (Panda took that picture of me...there's a whole photoshoot where that came from. Was looking at it today- shut up). I also got some killer stained jeans (the pewter colour) from them in the post the other day. Looks more like a really musty faded purple though, which makes it all the more amazing (THANKS!).

I'D GIVE MY BODY TO BE BACK AGAIN, IN THE REST OF THE ROOM

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WETLANDS

As you probably didn't notice, my 'Currently Reading' book changed. I just got this one yesterday, secondhand off of Amazon. Amazon is more than on top of things, seeing as this novel, a first by Charlotte Roche, came out last month.

Ok, so the gist. It's about an 18 year old girl and all her memories and reflections on her vagina, her anus and bodily fluids. Sometimes she talks about her passion for avocado raring. C'est tout!

I'm tired as fuck and just plain irked and fed up today so, not only is that ALL this book is about, but that's all you'll be getting out of me today.

Have a better weekend than me. x