Let's try this again

Me: You have to talk to people in their own language if you want to be understood. It's like if you were trying to say this really beautiful, selfless thing to someone that only understands German, but you said it in English, then it wouldn't matter how beautiful or selfless it was because they wouldn't understand you.
Him: Never mind German, I'd have to speak to her in Swahili to get her to listen!

My step-father doesn't really 'get' metaphor.

(Or maybe I need to be taking a leaf out of my own book amirite?)

Never Gonna Change My Mind

Do you ever get the feeling that if you met Joey Lawrence in person you would probably walk away feeling bitter disappointment?



I get that feeling. I get that feeling in SPADES.

[Via]

I'm busting chops today

Killing in what name now?

Um, I don't mean to come across as a total dick (LIE) but this whole 'RATM to Number 1 for Xmas' thing that you kids are doing... you err... how do I bring this up delicately... um, you know that RATM are on the same label as the X Factor Gayface* dude right? You have basically just doubley lined Simon Cowell's pockets in time for Christmas. So, you know, well done on that score if that was what you were after (though I suspect not).

I'm not even saying I don't like the song you 'randomly' 'chose' for your 'anarchic' 'campaign', I like it as much as anyone that voluntarily bought purple Doc Martins in her youth (and actually WORE them OUTSIDE the house!), I'm just saying it wouldn't surprise me if this was some Josie and the Pussycats shit you know? Like, some machivellian genius with a lisp (aka Parker Posey) is inflitrating the youth on two fronts - the X Factor 'conformist' fans and the RATM 'non-conformists' in order to maximise profits and subliminally sell you stuff you don't need. I think my man Eugene Levy explains this best...



Anyway all I want you to acknowledge is that the last time anyone was part of an 'anarchic' 'collective' that anyone 'cared' about they were members of Chumbawumba. So enjoy that acolade: 'The Next Chumbawumba'. Awesome.**

*Seriously seriously severe case of gayface going on there THOUGH OF COURSE HE IS AS STRAIGHT AS THE NEXT GUY *whispers* who just so happens to be George Micheal coughcough
**Should probs mention that that Miley Cyrus song Gayface is trying to shill sucks BIG GIANT BALLS. Like REALLY MASSIVE balls so I don't give a shit if it doesn't make it to number one. In fact, I'd rather listen to RATM than that any day of the week... So, I'm not really sure what my point is. Err... carry on 'Chumbawumba 2: Armed and Fabulous' I guess.

Burn the witch: A short play.

'I think I have this thing that other people have said they've got and now I think I've got it'

'Hypochondria?'

'Jackie, who came for dinner on Sunday, says when she tries to put her face in water she can't get fully submerged. Her bottom just lifts up as she tries to go under so she can't get under water by herself properly'

'Right'

'And that's a thing that I think I've got'

'Being too buoyant for water?'

'Right'

'I'm not sure that's a thing mum. Sounds more psychological than physiological'

'No! It is a thing. Her husband just sinks when he goes diving but she needs to wear weights'

'Uh huh'

'You don't believe me?'

'I'm just figuring out how best to tell you that this kind of means you and your friend Jackie are witches. That's how they test for it'

'You are so mean to your pretty mommy'

'I know'

Parentheses laden post

[Don't say you weren't warned]

Me and my pal Nick (not to be confused with Nic) (side bar: everyone I know is either called Nick/Nic or Dan and variations thereof which makes life confusing on a number of levels when most of these souls have little to do with one another and you have to explain that no, this is the Dan that's the alcoholic fuck-up that sent you to counseling and that is the Dan who is the wicked funny one with a penchant for Ricky Martin tunes and that happens to be the Dan that messed your best friend around about 17 times and is a total dick, etc etc ad infinitum). (This is why nicknames were invented). (I guess?)

Where was I?

Yes. NICK for the purposes of this blog known as 'gay husband' or to give him the name by which I actually call him to his face 'Bobbins' (long story. Does one ever grow out of calling people by their non-parent given names just to make it be a bit more insidery, and therefore more difficult, for anyone trying to get along with your 'group'? Particularly when you insist on calling them by their actual name, fake name, fake nickname, new name that probably won't catch on, in a random rotation so that no-one is ever 100 per cent sure of whom is being discussed at any given time? Will I grow out of that when I hit 27? NEXT MONTH HOLY SHIT I'M FREAKING THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW might I add) and I are both fans of these new-fangled celluloid motion pictures that all the kids are talking about ('they' say they'll be the next big thing but I'm yet to be convinced. I have my trusty puppet and shadow theater that caters to all my entertainment needs thank you very much). But yes, blah blah jokes, we watch a lot of films yet we rarely agree on what makes a good one. Unless it's foreign language in which case we do. And it's always that we like it (possibly because we don't really understand them so just pretend to like them for the sake of keeping up appearances? We're both Hyacinth Bucket enough for that to be a plausible hypothesis). Anyway, much like with crushes (which was on my mind today as I have a new girl crush - it has been so long since I've had a real-life girl crush I've changed dress size and hair colour about 16 times - and I was imagining us going on a date and her asking what celebrities I found attractive because, of course that is something that comes up in normal dating conversations, when you are 12, but I couldn't think of anyone. I'm always like, oh my god I LOVE him/her when other people mention their passions but these names never stick in my mind when I'm asked outright. I fill my walls with pictures of unicorns and Ethel Merman and, no disrespect to either of them, I like them but just not like that, so it's not even that I can do a mental sweep of hotty pictures about my palatial surroundings . Of course, if she was asking me when I was 12 to answer this question it'd be easy - Dean Cain and Joey Lawrence. Simple. Fast Forward centrefolds and cut-out thumbnail pics of both them adorned my abode), I can never think of films that are worse than the ones he comes up with when we have that argument (most recently Benjamen Button and Vicky Christina Barcelona, the latter of which he hasn't even seen b.t.dubs, have been the subject of our lively over-dinner conversation. Which, just to set the mood, was in an African-Latino restaurant soundtracked by your-dad-by-way-of-Chevy-Chase covering Keane songs? Seriously. Your Dad/Chevy came to each of the tables asking for requests and we wanted something by Hall & Oates but he didn't know any :( How is that even possible?) so the list that precedes is basically for my reference purposes and nothing you really have to worry your pretty little head about but like, it's there if you want to read/comment. Who am I? Blogging Hitler (like normal Hitler but fascist about blogs, not ethnicity). I am not blogging Hitler. I am blogging Sazz. Nice to meet you.

Anywho.

Crash
Paul Haggis is the worst writer of all time ever. No hyperbole, just science. That's the worst film I think my eyes have ever witnessed. This shit won an OSCAR? What?! HOW? Not for the screenplay though right? Because the screenplay was abominable... SHIT OFF! IT WON BEST PICTURE AND BEST SCREENPLAY?! This is not happening, this is NOT HAPPENING. I love a film that makes you think but all this did was make me think about blowing a hole in my head. Because really? Racism is bad. Oh yes, I see now, but maybe we are racist in ways we didn't even think about. (I am looking at you Sandra Bullock). And also racists can be nice because they sometimes pull Thandie Newton out of her car which has just crashed. And also Ryan Phillippe shoots people in the head occasionally for being mad about something but I forget what now. Awesome. Nailed it. Instead of a semester spent learning about social groups and their tendency towards prejudice and the wider implications of that using the Holocaust as a case study I should have just watched this film. Except I shouldn't because it was dumb and awful. I think it angers me so greatly because people told me this was good. It is not good. It is the opposite of good. It is ungood. That's how not good it is. I resent the fact I sat through this waiting for a pay off of some kind and never got it. Maybe the Academy was just giving out awards for being the worst that year? That'd make a lot of sense.

Match Point
Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Very attractive guy. Probably a lovely guy were you to meet him in person (who am I kidding, he looks like he'd be a dick to you). He cannot act. I cannot watch him on screen without cringing.
I tried to watch The Tudors the other day and I couldn't sit through more than 4 minutes of his wooden, HAS-to-be-reading-directly-off-the-cue-cards 'acting'. What's weird is that I saw this at the cinema alone and thought it was ok. I remember walking out thinking 'yeah, not great but pretty good' and then I watched it on DVD with someone else and couldn't get beyond him saying 'you have very sensual lips' to ScarJo and that was me done. Forever. JRM is outta my life. He was ok in Bend it Like Beckham right? Was I just too enamoured by his pretty pretty face back then? PastSazz sure is dumb.

Planet of the Apes
If you ever get the urge to cast Mark Walberg in a starring role then just take a step back, breathe deeply and ask yourself the following question what the fuck do I think I'm doing? And then, hopefully, we can all be saved from disasters like this.

Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous
I'm sure I have spoken about this before. Let us not dredge up the past again but looky here, Sandra Bullock pops up again. I sense a theme.

Teen Monster
My friend Kes gets these weird crushes every now and then that make my face do this :S and Ryan Reynolds is currently top of that list. Which means we have to watch every Ryan Reynolds film. Including this one which was rated 18 (for no reason whatsoever except that maybe children shouldn't be privvy to this mess of a movie) and comes on a Sky Movies channel intermittently and basically is the oddest thing ever with things like Back to the Future references peppered throughout that make no contextual sense. It's a mess of a movie, which you know five minutes going in when Ryan is presented as a goth. No. Just... no.

Films I like that I know I probably shouldn't like
- The Hottie & the Nottie (I'm sorry I do. It's not 1.7/10 bad at any rate)
- The Lake House (I might even go so far as to purchase this on DVD. I really like it and not even in a 'so bad it's good' way but in a 'I like this' way. Even though I can see it's objectively bad. I don't know what to tell you!)
- Loads of stuff I could probably cop some shit for but I'm not necessarily embarrassed about.

Films I refuse to watch on the grounds of human taste and decency
- Most Kevin Spacey films. I kinda like him, I just think he seems to make really bad choices.
- White Chicks. Which Bobbins likes. I rest my case.

MyZombie

Visiting myspace now is visiting a relic of ye olde times gone by. It's like wondering through the streets of Pompeii or ducking in and out of the Pyramids - this is how we used to live it says isn't that strange? Yes, you reply (to myspace) (I don't know why you like talking to the internet so much and I've been meaning to tell you - it makes you a little weird) it is strange. What once was a thriving community full of top 8 battles and ever increasing pride at one's comments reaching into and beyond the thousand mark (really, these things used to seem important, not to me obviously, but to a... erm... friend of mine. Called Bazzlalish. Bazzalish is crazy) is now dead. No one comments, no top 8s change. The facebook bomb went off and left it stuck in 2006. It's eerie because everything looks the same as when you left it, the only tip off that the world has moved on is that you can see where the weeds have started to grow up between the cracks in the pavement. People referencing Howling Bells and being in awe of Heroes (no one is in awe of Heroes anymore. Let's be clear on this). It's the cyber-equivalent of Chernobyl (and that actually works quite well because facebook is just as dangerous as - if not more so - a soviet nuclear power plant. That is science and the science is tight). It depresses the hell out of me, not because I miss myspace (I am nearing 27, I might happily spend an afternoon making up voices of fluffly penguins for my nephews enjoyment - and my enjoyment. Ok, you weedled it out of me. Congrats - but I have matured sufficiently to care not about social networking anymore. Much) but just as a reminder of the past. That ol 'nostalgia/you were a loser' dynamic rearing it's ugly head once again. Proustian rushes of you sat for hours following the conversations of people you didn't even know because they were friends of a friend of a guy that you spoke to once in a One Stop and had spent 13 hours of your life tracking down in the virtual kingdom of myspace. Facebook doesn't really allow for this level of cyber stalking to take place. You are able to more easily view conversation threads but only of people you KNOW. And who gives a shit about them? (Kidding guys, kidding. Sorta). You can't sniff around a person's friends to find out more about them, you can't find out what happened when that girl's friend snogged her ex boyfriend when he already had a new girlfriend and GOD! she was mad! How could they! But oh they were sorry and now, 2 months later, it's all fine again and do you guys want to go to the pub tonight lol?

Oh it was the best. Nipping in and out of people's lives without them ever knowing you were there. A thief in the night stealing a glimpse at their diary that they kept open for other people to read and allowed their friends to write in and probably knew, to some degree, that people they'd never met was reading all along.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is, what is it a girl has to do to work up a good stalk nowadays? Clearly I'm going to have to invest in one of these. That is if I could ever be bothered to leave the house.

[Post Script. Oh god. I just realised that if I ever put half as much energy worrying about myself as I do about other people I'd be like, a gazillionaire by now and be flying on my private jet to Tahiti to meet Chuck Bass and discuss our wedding plans. This is disturbing to me but not enough for me to make any radical changes so let's let it slide.]

Pedants Unite

I guess spelling the word 'about' correctly is the least of OK magazines worries when Katie Price is involved.



I'm either proud I spotted a less-than-a-second spelling mistake or worried that I obviously paid attention to an OK! (Alright! Yes! FINE!) commercial. It's erring towards the latter now I've taken the time to get a picture and posted said picture on the interwebs.

But in a bath though

'Hello I'm Rupert Everett. I'm here to talk to you today about Lord Byron. Whilst sat in a bath'


Three things:
1. What has happened to Rupert Everett's face?
2. But why in a bath though? And why Rupert Everett? And why Rupert Everett IN a bath? (When I make my documentary about Lady Gaga - basically the female Byron* - I'm going to narrate the whole thing whilst sat on the toilet)
3. Seriously, what has happened to Rupert Everett's face? He doesn't look bad (exactly) just different. I'm curious is all.

Compare and contrast:

Past & Present

I think it was the recent collectors edition of Heat that first brought this new weird Rupert Everett face to my attention. You know the issue of Heat I'm talking about right? The one with the 90's cut-out-and-keep pull out? The one that your two best friends call you about because it's got updates on Harvey Kinkle (in a bluegrass duo!) and Tug from Home and Away? That one? You've cataloged every edition of Heat in your mind right? Well then, you know what I'm talking about.

Anyhoo, I just figured, weird camera angle. Because sometimes, and I know this may shock you, I can sometimes appear less than attractive in pictures and it's not because I'm a minger like you are probably thinking, it's always the fault of the camera angle. Even when you see me in real life and your eyes tell your brain I'm kinda gross: Eyecamera angles fault (this is definitely a real thing). ESPECIALLY then in fact. This is science. But no, I watched an hour of Rupert flouncing round Albania and Turkey and he has totally got a weird face. Though I still find him strangely attractive. Which... yeah. Figures.

*Consider the evidence: bisexual, wears daft outfits, clearly a bit insane, writes poetry the likes of which could rival Shakespeare (e.g. 'I'm bluffing with my muffin'). It's almost too perfect. And we havent, to the best of my knowledge, ever seen them in the same room at the same time. Jus' sayin'.

The big day

I have no idea what I wrote last night but I do know I'm too scared-slash-embarrassed to read it. Don't drink and blog is the lesson there methinks. The only reason I was half-cut was due to me going out for dinner and then pub with my brother and housemate Kes so I had a legitimate excuse not to attend my step-dad's sisters hen night (if that convoluted family situation makes sense? Forget Jake, it's extended family as result of divorce town). Hen nights, along with wasps, are one of my biggest fears. Groups of women stumbling around with veils and learner signs and pink cowboy hats with the addition of alcohol? Do not want.*

In fact, I don't really understand any of the wedding stuff that, as a women, is meant to excite and enthrall me. Like when I watch any tv show or film and the wife-to-be walks out in her wedding dress at the wedding dress shop and everyone gasps and goes 'you look beautiful!' I always think 'she looks alright but a fancy white dress is a fancy white dress'. Because, really, a fancy white dress is a fancy white dress. Or when females freak out that their wedding invitations were supposed to be printed on bone card and they've actually been printed on ivory card... Don't get me wrong; I understand perfectionism, I'm a complete control freak, I have very specific ideas on what contitutes aesthetic pleasingness but I can't ever imagine giving a shit about whether a bit of card is this white or that white. I can't imagine spending hours deliberating over what the central flower display is going to look like. Or what shade of violet to make the bridesmaids dresses. I have been to plenty of weddings were this sort of thing obviously has been extensively discussed and it's always lovely but, for me, I'd rather spend the THOUSANDS of pounds it costs to have a big do and fly my nearest and dearest to Las Vegas for a drive thru wedding performed by Elvis and then roadtripping across the states (because, as the first test of marriage, surely surviving traveling for an extended amount of time with them
is a good indication for how the rest of the marriage will go? i.e. if neither one of you ends up dead then it should carry on for another couple of decades at least right?). I just wonder if I'm genuinely an aberration against man and God or whether it's another 'culture makes you feel weird if you don't want to spend the cost of a house on one day of your life' thing.

Having said that, even my heart melt a little when I saw this because who doesn't want their groom to do a somersault down the aisle?


[Via everyone on the internet everywhere but especially Molls... She Wrote and Videogum]

*According to my moms it was actually a lot of fun. Which just proves I'm an uptight heinous bitch sometimes but, when all is said and done, I would rather have a 10 minute conversation about the joy of picking spots than go to Tiger Tiger and watch middle aged ladies get drunk. That's basic Sazz science.

Fat Head

Jason London got a fat head. This might be the saddest I've been in a long, long time (about two days).

Jason London hot head


Jason London fat head


A fat head is a curious condition seemingly only afflicting the male of the species. It was never something I had noticed till a few years ago. It was something my friend Chloe pointed it out and once you've seen it once, you see it all the time. Like when you break up with someone and all you see are happy couples or when you buy a car and then all you see is that make of car everywhere you drive. It becomes impossible to miss. Most people, when you first point out an example of fat head phenomenon go 'What? Shut up! That's not a thing'. Then you say 'David Boreanaz' and they go 'oh yeah. I know what you're talking about now'.

The general theory is that boys who never had to watch their weight hit 25 and all of a sudden can't gobble down buckets of KFC 'chicken' and pint after pint of calorie laden lager like they used to and get away with slender frames anymore. They become fat. But, crucially, all over. Not just on their heads. Now comes the science bit (this is not the science bit), they lose the weight, or at least turn the fat to mostly muscle. They modify their lifestyles, they understand that actions have consequences. It's all very sensible. HOWEVER, not from their heads. So although their has been all over weight loss none of this shows from the head region. For the rest of their lives they are afflicted by the 'fat head' condition. It is very sad. But even sadder when it happens to Jason London. That IS the science bit.

Nemesis

Monday nights are great for doing the 'big shop'. The superstore is practically empty of other customers, the shelves are generally well stocked (I'm guessing Monday is a delivery day as they wouldn't have any on a Sunday... Maybe?), it's quiet and peaceful. I don't have to ram anyone or fight over the tomatoes or stab anyone in the eye for the last pack of falafels. It makes, what I find to be, quite a stressful experience into something a little less of a chore.

All fine and dandy indeed, all apart from that is, my nemesis.

My nemesis, were you to pass him on some sunny southern English street would probably not look like the sort of person that deserved to have his shins kicked in. He is middle-aged, greying round the temples (which is all that is left of the hair on his head as the rest has left him, presumably some time ago). Wiry of body, he wears Cosby sweaters and shorts and sandles and socks. He looks like any good Daily Mail reading member of the middle classes. He also, and I don't say this kind of thing lightly, must be destroyed.

I don't know how we time it, week after week, it must be that he sits in wait for me; louchely chillaxing by the hand whisks and Il Divo CDs, just flicking through a copy of 'For Crying Out Loud' by Jeremy Clarkson, blending in to his surroundings and making no sudden moments biding his time, waiting for me to approach the tills with my trolley, at which point he jumps into action and secures the spot behind me. He will allow me the courtusey of piling around 70-80% of my goods upon the conveyor belt. Each week I am lulled into a false sense of security, thinking that I've got most of the bits up there and he wouldn't possibly cross me again. But he does. He does the oddest and most infuriating thing. He reaches over to get the customer goods separator thing (I have no idea what's it's actually called) and puts it on the belt and STARTS PUTTING HIS THINGS ON. Before I've finished putting my stuff up there! Leaving me no space to finish getting my items checked through the till! WHICH SLOWS THE WHOLE PROCESS DOWN! I do not understand. The only explanation is that he is encouraging me to shoplift for some reason, trying to get me to join his Fagin-esque 'Cosby sweater' gang. Otherwise, I'm stumped. There are RULES and REGULATIONS. They are unspoken but they exist. Rule number one of supermarket etiquette is let the person in front of you unload their trolley before you start unloading your trolley. Rule number two of supermarket etiquette is LET THE PERSON IN FRONT OF YOU UNLOAD THEIR TROLLEY BEFORE YOU START UNLOADING YOUR TROLLEY. It is not hard. It makes sense to have this order. It does not speed the process up to do it simultaneously IT SLOWS IT DOWN. SO WHY ARE YOU SO RETARDED COSBY SWEATERED FAGIN?!?! WHY?!

To be fair, it's only happened once before today and I'm not even sure it was the same dude (but who else does that shit? Really?) and today he was with his wife and as soon as he put the separator thing down she must have seen my face and jumped in to move it off the belt almost immediately. She understands the primal, territorial language of supermarket shopping. Regardless, I still am seething now that he would attempt such a manoeuvre a second time. I went the whole way home replying the event in my head, thinking of how I could have cut that bitch up good by smashing a bottle of Harveys Bristol Cream sherry and used the pieces for some good ol' fashioned shiv practice. Or, just, you know, said something. So, Cosby sweater Fagin - watch out. I've thought of some really good zings for our next encounter that'll have you cowering in fear (example no#1: 'What are you doing?' TAKE THAT (and party) BITCH!)

Helloooo!

I've watched Twilight (of course I've watched Twilight), I've seen all three High School Musicals, I've read Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist and Cecily von Zeiger books, I've even stooped so low as to start sky+ing The Hills. I like pre-teen pop culture. But it took just 41 seconds for me to decide I would never ever ever ever need to absorb anything Hannah Montana related [from 2.29 onwards]:



If Miley Cyrus and I walked into a room together only one of us would make it out alive again.

But which one...

Net etiquette

I'm getting increasingly irritated by people who know even less about computers than I.

WHERE do I find that on here?

Sigh. If you click on the icon that says the exact thing you are looking for then you can find it there.

Oh yes. Thanks.

You're welcome IDIOT.

I know this ire is unfair. I also know how my brother feels when he has to talk to anyone but 12 year old nerds playing Halo about anything computer related. I never used to get this annoyed so I don't know why it's suddenly just started picking away at me. Maybe because the internet has been around FOREVER and people should just GET WITH THE PROGRAM ALREADY. I also figure, if I can do it, you can do it. There are a lot of things I cannot do; brain surgery, rocket science, mental arithmetic, telling the difference between my left and my right but the few things that I can do; using basic functions on the internet like Google for instance (see, what you do, is type the thing that you are looking for in the "search" "box" and then words appear in front of your eyes AND YOU READ THEM WITH YOUR EYES. Do you want me to make you a flow chart on this? JESUS) then you can too. I don't care who you are but I do know that if I can do it, you can do it. I know you might need someone to show you but what, where have you been the last gazillion years? We're not talking about learning how to program your robot butler when all you have to go on is instructions written in Swedish and you've been picked up in a time traveling phone box by two Californian stoners from the Elizabethan age, we're talking about typing words onto a screen. You know what words are don't you? You're heard of this mysterious force called 'words' right? All the cool kids down the youth centre have been talkin' 'bout this new thing called 'words' and you weren't sure what they were or who to ask about them because you didn't want to look totally uncool. Is that it? Did you just not want the cool kids to think you were uncool so couldn't ask anyone what 'words' were? That's it isn't it? Except, oh yeah, YOU USE A COMPUTER EVERYDAY IN YOUR JOB HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THIS SHIT ALREADY? I'm jus' sayin' is all.

But then I see things like this and I realise what people from a certain demographic have been dealing with in internets teachings and I feel bad.



I've got a real yearning for some Movies4Men soft porn action after that.

Recluse Wisdom

I haven't meaningfully left my abode for the best part of two weeks. Two trips to the cinema, work stuff and food shopping doesn't count. This leaves me with very little to write about given that all I have to occupy me are my thoughts, some books, humous, and downloaded American televisual programs. None of which anyone really needs to know anything about beyond the fact they exist. Which they all do. (I think).

So what can I teach you, what wisdom can I impart despite my current recluse status? I mean, Emily Dickinson wrote insightfully and beautifully about life and love without ever really leaving the house, maybe I can attempt the same thing?

Or, and more likely, maybe I can just tell you the following:

- Middle-aged women in groups of three or more are terrifying. Completely terri-fy-ing. I don't know why, when individually they are merely intimidating, if they group up they scare me shitless. I'm not sure how they manage to be so unassuming in their nice cardigans and flowery-print tops (I don't mean this as a criticism, I wear similar garb for work. It's called 'being a do-gooder for the Council') and yet so fear inducing at the same time. Nothing is more likely to give me a panic attack than an invite for a coffee with six middle aged ladies. Not even thoughts of the inevitable zombie apocalypse (brother has cultivated a vegetable patch to allow us to cope for at least a few weeks after this occurs - it's called 'planning for the future', maybe you want to look it up some time?). Zombies just eat your flesh, middle-aged ladies have dark powers far exceeding mere reanimated corpses - they intimidate and subtly criticise in ways where you're not sure they actually criticised you but you feel slighted nonetheless up until there is nothing left but a quivering mess of quarter aged girl. If you were wondering whether or not I have a complex relationship with my mother then yes, why do you ask?

- The Hampshire Dyslexic Society uses Lee from Blue as a reason you shouldn't be ashamed of having dyslexia.

Seriously.

So, ok, long gone are the days when I could legitimately carry around a hatred for the R'n'B boy band Blue with their frosted tips and cargo pants and duets with Stevie Wonder that made me want to shoot myself in the face. I have had to accept they existed and move on (though I will say in the new 'we sell, we buy' music shop in Southampton 76% of their stock seems to be exclusively made up of Blue albums. There are more people wishing to forget Blue existed and part with their precious 'One Love' than we previously thought, which gives me a sliver of hope for the human race) but really, you are using Lee from Blue to make dyslexia seem ok? You, and don't take this the wrong way, you know who he is right? Here are some choice 'Lee from Blue' quotes just in case they passed you by the first time:

After 9/11:
"Who gives a fuck about New York when whales and elephants are being killed?"
[Everyone? I think everyone gave a fuck. If your point is that there are other things going on on our planet that are abhorrent then I do not disagree Sir but your point is diluted slightly when thousands of people were killed in an unparalleled act of aggression and destruction that changed the face and direction of the entire human race. Just slightly though.]

On seduction techniques:
"If I fancy a girl, I'll tell her. I'll say: 'You're fit'"
[And I'm sure they've been waiting their life to hear such words of beauty spoken by a man with the heart of a poet such as yourself.]

"I try not to sleep with every girl I see, but it's hard!"
[Obviously.]

Existential Musings:
"I still have imaginary friends who I talk to in my head."
[Actually, so do I.]

"There is something really mysterious about lions. They could rip you apart if they wanted to, but at the same time they look so cuddly. Can you imagine what humans look like to animals? They must think we're so weird."
[Mustn't they just?]

"To be honest everything goes over my head a bit."
[STOP THE PRESSES! THIS JUST IN!]

So... yeeeeah. That's your role model. Um... Congratulations?

- My skin radiates with (pasty) goodness up until I set one foot out of the door, at which point I have a breakout so severe children are afraid to look at me. I think that's God's way of telling me I shouldn't leave the house.

- Snog, Marry, Avoid is the greatest.

Emily Dickinson has got shit on me. This recluse-wisdom thing is a piece of piss.

This guy

Oh christ, this guy.

He's like everywhere. He haunts my dreams.

When I drink water, which I do, I'm not knocking the water drinking, but when I do drink water (FROM A TAP - who am I, Scrooge McDuck?) I rarely get a camera crew to film me doing it. And even then, even without the camera crew, I'm not all nonchalant about how normal and fun and refreshing it is to be drinking water. I drink my water and shut the fuck up (and then I drink your milkshake, I drink it up).

And yes, I know he's an actor paid to perform some lines written by some Non Draper guy (I'm totally copyrighting 'Non Draper' btw) with a faux-hawk and an increasing cocaine addiction, but why does he have to perform them so annoyingly? It's particularly grating because their last ad campaign had a talking volcano and a dinosaur called Tyrannosaurus Alan. That's the kind of shit I can can get behind. (Or at least smirk to myself whenever it comes on and never admit to anyone that I've been so easily manipulated by advertising when I reach for a Volvic water bottle in the queue at the petrol station when I wasn't even thirsty in the first place). I ain't impressed by some hipster loser who works in a restaurant and takes his breaks OUTSIDE so he can DRINK HIS WATER (?!) with his overly relaxed talking-to-camera demeanor and patchy facial hair and hairstyle that was last popular around the time Kurt Cobain was blowing his brains onto a wall.

Which is maybe something this guy needs to consider. That's all I'm sayin'.

Tip of the day: Do not get me started on the Orange cinema adverts.

Nope

Not only did I add it to my facebook page but I also got that tattooed on my face.

Boom goes the dynamite

My search for love is over. Finally.



That's so weird because I love going out with friends playing with kids going to church too! Assuming he means that he loves playing with kids who are on their way to church when he goes out with his friends. I don't do any of those things separately. That would be weird.

It's also nice to know that he am a simple person don't have a problem. Because that's basically how I would describe myself (were I to take away the guff about snowglobes, Simpsons quotes, and dogs in hats as you can view now to your left). He does not need to know me 'more well' as we are obviously soul mates.

I also feel I should point out that I don't know what profile he's talking about. (Unless it's the one on here? I hid my match.com profile so it must be). And although he says he needs a woman for a long relationship, he doesn't make it clear if it's actually me . Chris, if you're reading this, I'm not involved in the human trafficking business. Please amend your records on this point.

The best thing is that this isn't the first time this has happened.

I guess some of us are just more lucky in love than others.

Heaven

Great-Granny's 94th birthday buffet was held at the Conservative Club.

There is a framed picture of David Cameron on the entrance hall sideboard.

Big family event + framed David Cameron photo = Heaven. Right? I've done the math right there haven't I?

Let's just check... scribble scribble, carry the 1, divide by infinity, scribble scribble, furrowed brow.

No, yep. This is what heaven looks like.

I now have to do everything within my power to avoid getting into heaven.

When I Grow Up

When are the Pussycat Dolls just going to admit that they were technically born as men? If they could just come out and say it then I could at least start admitting to myself and others that I quite like their new song. This is because a transvestite pop group is something I would never feel guilty for enjoying. In their present 'female' (ahem..) incarnation they obviously must be feared and hated and mocked mercilessly in public until everyone leaves and then I can creep quietly to my room and sit in the corner facing the door so I can see if anyone enters and play it on my mp3 and worry about what people would think if they really knew how I felt.

In other news, I love that I was reminded that Gossip Girl (a.k.a. the single greatest television show ever produced) was back on after seeing posters in a gay club. They know their audience, this much is true. And oh my, the second season opener had muthafucking Jay McInerney and Tinsley Mortimer as guest stars which tells you everything you need to know about how and why it rocks so hard because, were we to 'do the math', we would learn that:

advertising in gay clubs + hipster authors + famous Manhattan socialites = pure undiluted awesome

The sums: they no lie.

Speaking of gay clubs, why am I only ever told how gorgeous and fabulous I am by 'the gays' in the gay clubs? Why is it that strange Barcelonian boys whose boyfriends sit there with a look of resigned disgust on their faces because my boyfriend is chatting up straight girls again and super camp spiky haired Pompey dudes that will hoochie dance with you when you've only just met are the ONLY men that appreciate my own unique brand of awesomeness? I am getting to the point where I'm realising that the only male love I'm going to get is from the ones who don't want to have sex with me.

Anyways, the real reason I'm here is not be self-pitying or talk up a storm on a pop culture tip, but because I wrote a short, short story and it's here if you want to read it. Or not. Whatevs.