awwooooo!

Le Sigh.

The police are so going to lock me up for something to do with minors.

This boy is illegal.

Oh Taylor. Who knew when I watched the comedy classic that is Cheaper By The Dozen 2 that you would turn out to be dreamier than McDreamy.

carrot cake and wine

I was flipping through this month's issue of Vanity Fair (after I had poured over the amazingness of R-Patz's photos) when I stopped at a picture of what I thought was a chic 30-something sophisticated woman, until I read her little interview. This woman who I thought was at least 10 years older than me was actually my age! There she was posing in a pretty little white Lanvin dress, this overachieving minx, art advisor to the rich and famous...while I sat in my greying fluffy slippers and an old Johnny Depp t- shirt.

I know, I know...its a story in a magazine. And its Sunday, I have every right to be wearing Johnny Depp's face over my bosom. I have conflicting issues with myself over age. I feel too old to party hard but far too young to settle down. The Saturday nights of my "yoof" were spent in smoky bars and clubs, student dives and Scream pubs, raving and dancing the weekend (and week day) nights away. I notice that my social calender now consists more of dinner parties than parties. Last night, a little get together at a friend's house meant X-Factor, Wii games, beer, pizza...and tea. Smokers please gather on the roof terrace! (I have flashbacks of my student pad strewn with cigarette butts and empty beer bottles in the living room, 365 days of the year) When did we get so sensible? When did I become not only the owner of a vacuum cleaner, but of a variety of herbal teas and a cafetiere?

So, this not-so-old-old-fart is off to do some baking and daydream about my next tattoo (I'm thinking wild horses in black and grey) and finishing off my nails in that matte grey/beige colour I spied on Lauren Conrad's twitpic.

Ciao, ciao.

bueller...bueller...bueller...

I am feeling a little overwhelmed today.



I would like to be somewhere in a different hemisphere, where you can see that actually the sky is in fact blue, where the only noise i hear is from the sound of my old-man style heavy breathing, and preferably at a beach, with the smell of coconut oil permeating my nostrils. With white sand.

I don't ask for much.

tweet, tweet, tweettweet

An new internet filter has been installed at work meaning access to my daily browsing has been limited. Trying to log into my email account will have access denied flash across my screen and the reason why written underneath it: Pornography...wha'!

I have taken to wearing my amazing woolly hats, with giant embellishments on them Blair Waldorf style. Maybe I have a weird shaped head, but sometimes hats just dont sit right on me. So rather than let my ears (also funny shaped) turn as blue as a Smurf this winter I am going to buy one of these little bad boys:



I'm actually looking forward to winter this year in a kooky Tim Burton kind of way. All I'm missing is an actual working fire place. Other than that...weird yodelling cat, check. Insane neighbour, check. A century's supply of hot chocolate, check.

Have you seen the whiteness of Katie Price's teeth? I want to gravitate towards it like a fly to one of those fly electrocuters. I'm borderline obessive on teeth whiteness. I have a whitening product shipped from the US and a gum guard. I like wearing my gum guard and shadow boxing in the mirror like Michelle Rodriguez in Girl Fight.

Michelle Rodriguez is totally a lesbian.

Speaking of which, have you seen The L Word? I have yet to watch it from Season 1, but it is the best drama on telly I have seen (bar True Blood) in ages.



Shane McCutcheon, I salute you.

Everyone has a passion that is lost on others

Jigga who, jigga whuut

I'm scared I'll be too short to see anything on stage tonight. And even more scared of having teenage boy sweat smeared onto my face.

l-i-v-i-n

Last night I booked a quick weekend trip away for my birthday. The deciding factor was the realisation that I have not left the shores of this pond all year. So with that dismal fact, I pressed click a few times and have foolishly booked an expensive weekend trip right smack bang in the middle of the most expensive month of the year. Somehow I will have to squeeze my purse to buy gifts for the family entourage that seems to get bigger and bigger each year.

I hate buying Christmas presents.

“One thing I’ve learnt about male role models is that they don’t hesitate to invest in themselves.” Michelle Obama

Now i'm not usually one to go ga-ga and hallelujah when I hear an inspiring quote. But after reading this in an interview with the First Lady (of the World it seems) it just went ping! i couldnt agree more. And everytime I feel guilty or too tired. I will remind myself of this little gem and turn my phone off/get out my credit card/say no/etc etc...

...except when it comes to Christmas presents.

working girl

For some bizarre reason, one of my favorite films to watch as a kid was Working Girl. I liked watching Tess McGill change from this big haired Jersey girl to a still big haired Suit. Being a Suit looked important and exciting. Fast forward 20 odd years later and I've developed this aversion to all things Suit related. Maybe thats why I chose to slog it out in the meeedya industry for so long where converse and ripped jeans (albeit designer) were acceptable forms of workwear.

The knocks I've taken when I was still struggling up the industry ladder have left me with a lot of self doubt. Even now, in a nice stable role in the third sector I have wobbly days where I worry that I'm not doing enough or I've done too much or no one's taking me seriously. Having had nothing but glittering references from employers, the one that tops my list of humiliations (and there's been many!) was the time when I worked freelance for a start up digital company. My boss sat me down on the table next him (because you know...changing tables makes it all the more private) for a "chat". Silly little me came running over with my arms full of research notes and updates, sit down, pen poised, about to go through my findings when he hits me with "we're not going to ask you to come back next week, you just don't fit the dynamic of the office" Ouch. But that was the reason I was hired in the first place, to give them ideas outside of their box. Did I mention, I was also the only girl therefore all tea duties were assigned to me? As well as all the phone calls. I went from having a perfect employment record to being shown the door. Meanwhile, the snivelling, stuck up little brown noser who was hired alongside me stayed put. The same little rodent who declared he would never touch The Sun newspaper because it was chavvy. Granted, but it is the biggest selling newspaper in the country. Moron.

So on the spot I had to hand over my office keys, fight back tears of humiliation while feeling my face get hotter and hotter and do the walk of shame through the door. Even the time I was pushed onto the pavement by an irate shopkeeper (so he could interrupt the cameras and shout at June Sarpong) and I was made to apologise to him...this still doesn't come close to the walk of shame I had to do.

Months later, whilst walking through Soho one morning I had the displeasure of bumping into one of the slimy creeps who gave me a bright smile and chirped Good Morning! I couldnt believe that after the embarrassment I suffered from these guys, the panic of suddenly not having a job, the stress of trying to scramble for another job to make rent money, here he was all happy jazz hands trying to be nice!Giving him an almighty stare down, I gave him no ackowledgement and walked straight past him leaving him hanging on D'Arblay Street. Now that, as Mastercard would say, is priceless.