Yeah. That's right.

I wouldn't say I like this picture more than I like pictures of pug puppies with their tongues hanging out; but I do like it a lot.

Nineteen sleeps

In just nineteen sleeps I will moving into my very own bachelorette pad. The way this came about was me having had perhaps the most emotionally taxing week of my life wherein I found myself as part of 'an item' ('but not change our relationship status on facebook item!'; romance isn't dead... Don't tell him this but I couldn't give a fuck what my facebook relationship status says or doesn't say, I just find it amusing that he does worry about it; 'ugh, and then people will 'like' it and stuff...'), breaking up with two different other guys FACE TO FACE as a result of this (which was horrible but the past-me would have just stopped taking their calls and answering their texts as a way of dealing with it so it also felt weirdly good?), having a job interview (which I didn't get), having both sets of parents fuck me over in wildly varying ways (as they are wont to do), having a mini breakdown by Thursday as a result of all this and then just deciding that I want to live by myself. Like, literally, the thought ran through my head; 'I want to live by myself', and then I found myself on rightmove, found myself phoning letting agents and landlords, was viewing properties on the Friday and had signed stuff and paid agency fees and deposits on Saturday.

It all seemed rather sudden and yet has been a long time coming.

I've got this idea that I'll spend my days baking recipes from the Guardian whilst listening to Chopin, or while away hours bogling to Aswad (in reality more like DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince) in my bedroom mirror, that I'll sew quilts with 1950's musicals or 1930's screwball comedies playing in the background. It all seems rather idyllic (which is how you know I probably won't end up doing any of these things after all). But I have been making lists of what I'll need (in pencil of course in case I make mistakes because there's nothing worse than an ill-thought out list with scribbles and what not; that aren't there because you've got a legitimate reason to cross these things off and just look messy rather than complete). But despite the lists (sweet sweeeet listszzz) I've not really been checking anything off. Like, do I know what the council tax band is? Do I fuck. Have I told my bank I'm moving yet? Have I set up internet or utilities for my new place yet? Um, no. I'm incredibly blase about it all. In part because I don't know what the timetable for setting these things up should be. I've no point of reference as whenever I've rented before I've looked lovingly into the eyes of the person I'm living with and fluttered my eyelashes and gone 'do what huh?' and then they've sighed and sorted stuff out for me (protip: this works disturbingly well on males and females whether you are sleeping with them or not. Always). In fact, the only (somewhat) useful thing I've done thus far is purchase a mp3 speaker dock (for listening to the Chopin in the kitchen) and a book called 'Modern Vintage Style' which is going to come in very handy for when I have no money for food because I've spent it all on retro looking throw cushions.

Despite the fact I'm clearly struggling to be an adult of any worth I'm really looking forward to this little adventure in home alone style living. By which I mean I'll be setting up elaborate traps using mannequins and ingenuity to catch any burglars that happen upon my new second floor one bed abode by the seaside. Wish me luck.

Yup

EEP!



[Via]

The only complicated thing about this is how many times I will pay to see it

I can't remember the last time I was this excited for a movie to come out.

Virtual Insanity

Today I kind of went insane. Like, more than usual. Well, actually last night I actually went insane and nearly text my gay to tell him off about a comment he'd made earlier in the night but I didn't adequately respond to at the time but stopped when I realised it might be the cider talking and not 'me' but man, was I maaaaaad! What was scary is that I thought I was stone(ish) cold(ish) sober(ish) until I could feel my heart beating out of my chest and having a conversation to thin air after I'd got in my jimmy-jammies and climbed into bed: having conversations with someone not in the room is always a super good way of knowing that your mental well-being is in tip top shape. Anyway, suffice it to say, I didn't text him and start a text battle over a comment he probs wouldn't even remember making so I think that's a good thing. Sort of.

BUT. Yes. Insane. Me. Today. Marks and Spencers and I have this ongoing love/hate thing in that I love their carrot chutney and wensleydale sandwiches and pretty much hate everything else (that is so not true - for a start their underwear for the bigger chested lady is THE BOMB but it makes a funnier joke the way I originally put it so I'm keeping it in). But on my back from their delicious sandwich section and past the Per Una bit (which, in this store, is like one rack which says 'Limited Edition - Buy While Stocks Last' - basically a Sazz beacon: 'What? What was that? I might miss out on something?!?!?!?!? GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!!!!!1!') and spied the sleeve of what looked like a coat that had distinct potential to look totally cute on me. I plunged into the racks and tried it on and it fit - just. But oh my god, it was LUSH. Dark green tweedy material with brown buttons arranged in a double breasted military style and to the knees and just TO DIE FOR. HOWEVER! It was a size too small and had a too big price tag. I reluctantly returned it to its snug little rack and carried on to the coffee shop outside where I met my mama and papa mikey.

'I've found the one coat in the world that's going to make me happy' said I as a conversation opener. They lolled quite hard because I'm a bit coat mad in that I am on a permanent quest to find coats that makes my entire life complete (I have replaced men with coats). I was sure this, this, was the one. The one that would finally end the quest. They thought that was bullshit as I've said it before about other coats so would I just learn to accept my coat collection as it is and stop talking about coats already jeez! (I, on the other hand, do not think 3 new coats in six months is overly excessive and rarely does one coat synchronise with ever outfit in one's wardrobe especially when you're like me and wear a lot of wacky shit). To shut me up Papa Mikey said he would buy it for me for Christmas because he is awesome and knows how to shut me up. This would mean driving to the store 30 minutes away because it was hella bigger and bound to have a luxurious selection of sizes and sizes of the dream coat hanging from well spaced hangers with acres of room around me to twirl and twirl in as the coat and I began our tentative first steps to a long and happy union. So that's exactly what we did. BUT! When we got there they only had the coat of my dreams in a size up from the one I wanted! Twist! So we left, I feeling dejected and lost because I was in love with the coat of my dreams and the only thing in the entire universe that would make me happy would be the coat of my dreams. I did the only thing a girl of my stature and time could do - I went home and looked online. ANd do you know what? They only had it in fucking Purple!! Purple! Pah! Gross! I spit on you purple you fucking whore! Where is my beautiful green, purple?! YOU KILLED HIM DIDN'T YOU???! I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!

So, naturally, I drove the 30 minutes back to the store and bought the green coat in a size bigger than what I wanted. That is what I did today. Drove around Hampshire looking for a green coat that fits and then settling for one that basically fits but not as well as it could do. Yes.

Community Drag Race

Man, autumn is the best. It's getting colder which means coats and hats and scarfs and, as we all know, scarfs means laughs. That was officiated by The Rhyming Institute of Rhymezland back in 1987. I love walking out my front door and seeing my breath hit the cold. I don't like walking out my door and seeing massive spider webs with juicy spiders on them so much but that's ok cos I got a stack of conkers to keep them away (err... did I mention this? Bobbins' dad told him spiders are frightened of conkers. Which... hmm. His argument isn't backed up by the fact his mum told him the French eat bees - just the insides, not the fur. This claim remains unsubstantiated). The bestest best thing about autumn though? NEW TEEVEE! Well, new shows on old teevee. Content rather than gadgets keeps me amused (is that what she said? I think it might be). It' so exciting in a way that makes me think I should maybe get out more (though the other day I got happy in a way that is neither normal nor healthy about new DCSF leaflets arriving. We have been waiting for them for months to be fair but still, even my manger was amused by the glee I exhibited) but I figure I get out plenty fine for the most part. As long as it doesn't involve conversing with people too much then I happily leave the house nearly every day! And sometimes I even remember to shower before doing so! (That is still a slow process, to get my body to remind me that that needs to happen more than once a week. It's like the last thing on a long list of daily achievements that comprises my list lead life). However, having being suckered into watching (and dear lord help me, craving) shows like Everwood because of the August tv drought I am now faced with shiny new programs that make my life worth living again.

On 'normal' telly RuPaul's Drag Race is the greatest thing to shimmy onto my screen wearing a wig and stilettos since Dynasty. It's sort of a mish mash of America's Next Top Model and Project Runway (finally!) but instead of 'make it work' RuPaul (dressed as Tim Gunn and ROCKING geek chic) tells them 'don't fuck it up' (which my little heart that fucking adores senseless swearing just mutherfucking loves) and instead of 'Congratulations... You're still in the running towards becoming Americas Next Top Model' RuPaul (dressed as Tyra and looking STUNNING) says 'Chantay you stay/sashay away' after the bottom two have had to lip sync for their lives MIGHT I ADD?!!?!? My favourite is Nina Flowers who seems to be more performance artiste than traditional 'dude in a dress' and has a very pleasing heavy South American accent (I have a weird girl crush on her). The only thing that doesn't gel well is the 'pit team' who come on oiled up and in their tight pants to pass round cameras or whatever goods are required in that weeks challenge. Seems like objectifying mens bodies isn't exactly what Gloria Steinem et al had in mind when trying to equal the playing field for women. And also reinforces the idea that 1) all transvestites are gay and 2) all gay men are obsessed with sex. But it's possible I might think that just because I'm a bitter old prude. It rocks whatever. Self-aware enough to revel in it's own silliness, without ever losing sight of the fact that these girls actually want to win for a reason (noone that goes on ANTM can really believe they will become a top model anymore can they?). Chantay you stay Drag Race.

On 'shh secret squirrel computer' telly, Community might just be the sitcom that battles 30 Rock for first place in my heart (though this is on the basis of one episode. It has to survive another four seasons of being consistently amazing to win that particular medal). Joel McHale is insanely hot as the sarcastic, clever, mean (basically the three most important qualities for a man to have for me to fall in love with him) lawyer Jeff who is forced to go back to Community College after being disbarred ('they found out my college degree was less than legitimate'/'I thought you had a bachelors from Columbia?'/'And now I have to get one from America') and sets up a fake study group to bed Elizabeth Shue-a-like Britta. Basically watch the trailer and you will get the general idea but in the actual program there's no annoying music that swells just as our zany bunch of ragamuffins learn another important life lesson that will carry them on to next week and no growly man chattin' like some kind of Weather's Original obsessed granddad that ruins all your favourite shows for you by talking over them. (Why do trailer makers do that? Why don't they want people to like their shows? Even the E4 man has run his course as far as I'm concerned). Plus did I mention John Oliver, plus did I mention Chevy Chase??!?!!? Awesome squared.



Anywho, go watch my pretties. The world is your oyster as long as you don't leave your house very often.

Party Hard

Did you guys know Andrew WK is back? I say back, what I mean is that Andrew WK brought himself out of stasis recently as he looks exactly the same as when he appeared in his grubby clobber however many years ago it was now. Basically we can all breathe a big sigh of relief;
'Where's Andrew WK gone?'
'What's Andrew WK up to?'
'I haven't seen Andrew WK around for a while. It makes my face do this :('

Relax nerds. I've been as freaked out as you. Constantly rifling through the pages of 'Weird Metal Pop Hybrid Fan Monthly' checking their 'Spotted' section to see if Andrew WK has brought a sandwich from Tesco's recently and nada, nothing, zilcho. Until now.

Ladies and gents allow myself to introduce... myself. Introducing Andrew WK. Doing this new kids game show.

You read that correctly.



What I'm saying is that Andrew WK is America's Richard Hammond. That is what I am telling you. I will understand if you need to go and have a sit down (why are you standing up reading the internet anyway? What is this, China?)

A lot has changed for me since Andrew WK was last in our lives. I've fallen in and out of love, graduated from university, become a blond and, oh yeah, changed my clothes once or twice in that 5 year period. But that's just me, I'm that kind of kooky girl you know?

Changes of clothes? Where Andrew WK is going he doesn't need changes of clothes. Or a brush. Or dancing lessons.

Um, this just in, he's also a motivational speaker? If you have a problem and no one else can help, maybe you can call... Andrew WK(?) Err...Right. Can I just, yeah, I might just leave it then. Thanks though.

I knew there was another service I was looking for Andrew WK to perform. (Also, that is definitely what she said.)

Happiness

Is this picture.



Mostly cos it contains my boyfriend Zach, that guy who is in everything and noone knows his name (I know his name of course. It's Bradley Cooper. I can list three movies he's been in right now without even bringing to mind the imdb logo*. I also know who wrote The Pacifier**. I know this stuff. I'm not proud, it's just facts. Cold hard facts smashing directly into my brain and staying there for one unfathomable reason or another), and of course everyone's favourite a cappella aficionado Ed Helms.

Perfection.

And coming to a cinema near you June 2009. Sweet.

*Wet Hot American Summer, Wedding Crashers, He's Just Not That Into You. This stuff isn't hard for me. If anything it's too easy.
**Thomas Lennon. He has been in Reno 911, I Love You Man, and 17 Again. How do I know this? I don't know. Really, I don't. I just know that I know it. Let's accept that and move on.