The Saliva Kills It

Just watched this on the PiX zine blog. WOW.

Nobody Knows I'm A Lesbian

I think I’m in love with Audrey Horne. In case you don’t know who that is (and might I just interject, WHO’S JOSH GROBIN? KILL YOURSELF!) then you really need to watch Twin Peaks. She slinks around in tight sweaters and below the knee skirts trying to get the attention of Agent Cooper who is as inscrutable as he is heroic (very). She has a habit of calling everyone by their name, repeatedly, and she acts before she thinks. She also has her own theme music. She is pretty much sexy defined.

‘Sexy’ has been on my mind ever since I took a plane and was forced to read Cosmopolitan for the duration of takeoff. Cosmo chatted to four LADS from Luton (probably, I can’t remember) who each had their own unique take on what made a girl sexy. Whether it was large boobs or blonde hair, they all knew what they wanted, and heaven forbid if the girl talked too much or was successful in work “successful chicks are such ball-busters”.

I don’t know what I was expecting from Cosmo but it was about one hundred times more damaging and ridiculous than I could have imagined. Top on the intriguing list ‘21 Things Women Can Do That Guys Can’t, were, wait for it, getting pregnant and looking sexy while holding fruity drinks. And things we were instructed to do before we died included ‘Buy a pair of shoes you can’t walk in’, how’s that for ambition?

Anyway, if like me several fuses have just blown in your brain because this kind of stuff is actually IN PRINT, in 2010, then maybe you should take a leaf out of my book and relax; Audrey Horne style.



To be continued . . .

Beyond my Means

Nothing is going right. I work night shifts in A&E and apply for an average of four, far more glamorous, jobs a day. Would I like to work at the Serpentine Gallery? For the Royal Shakespeare Company? For Vogue? YES, Yes I would. And I think, somewhere in my subconscious I already do.

How else can I explain the fact that I live so far beyond my means that I can’t even see them anymore? I blame television. And literature And my youth. Ok, I blame the television and literature of my youth. No one ever told me that life continued after high school; Heartbreak High and Saved by the Bell went on and on, how was I to know that my life wouldn’t be a similarly rolling rostra of cast members and hilarious jokes? How was I to know that things could get harder than having a crush on Zach or Drazic (shh!)? I think one of the graduating class from Saved by the Bell went on to be in Show Girls, and Screech made porn. These aren’t role models, what was I thinking?





As for literature my printed diet consisted of Evelyn Waugh and P.G. Wodehouse. Both writers deal in the farcical trials and tribulations of the upper middle classes, being out of work is a lark, having nowhere to live is a jape. And sooner or later an aunt or drunk Colonel will bequeath you a tidy sum and we will all live happily ever after. If I am to follow the example of P.G. Wodehouse (and he’s got to be a better leader than Screech) then all I need to do is get myself a job as a gentleman’s gentleman (that’s butler to you and me) in a large country house, the rest will follow. I grew up still believing that most people, out in the wide world that I hadn’t yet been granted entrance to, had valets and butlers and maids. I suppose these roles now come under the blanket umbrella of the p.a., or worse still, “assistant”. I can’t bring myself to do it, Wodehouse would never have written about assistants!

Perhaps I should just see how far I can push it and get myself a butler.

Putting my cat on a leash

It's gotta be done.

I will let you know how it goes, unless she runs under a car, in which case I will be crying into my keyboard and there will be no more typing for me, ever.

Beauty School Dropout

“Your future’s so unclear now, what’s left of your career now?”

I didn’t go to beauty school, but I’m beginning to wish I had. At least after four years of beauty training I might have some demonstrable (and billable) skills. I could paint your nails, curl your hair, I could probably wax and tan you simultaneously (I’m good with my hands). I could do old fashioned things like sets, waves and rinses; I would know the difference between cuticles and follicles, and that knowledge would keep me warm at night (looking good never goes out of style). As it is I went to university, got two degrees and am more or less unemployed. What’s a little more frightening is that I am more or less unemployable.

I can talk to you about the implicit sexuality in James Joyce’s Ulysses but I don’t know what an ISA or a hedge fund is. I know that computers work like knitting (two stitches, inordinate patterns) but if you ask me to format a spreadsheet I will probably faint. Why, dear reader, am I so jobless? Because I swallowed the line they fed us in school; hook, line and sinker. Just like Carey Mulligan, I got myself invested in “an education” That is, education for educations sake, and the belief that there is something noble and worthy and good in learning itself. Reader I was wrong.

There is nothing noble about the job centre, and the less said about trawling in pound shops for other people’s birthday presents, the better. I want some skills! Skills I can make evident with my hands! I want to be able to fix your spark plug, re-set your knee and paint you a mural. Which is why, I’d like to announce my formal withdrawal from ‘education’, and my induction into apprenticeship. Not the ‘Lord Sugar’ type but the plumber’s mate one. I’m here to learn, and then I’m here to be paid for what I’ve learnt. In cold, hard cash.
Taking a leaf out of P.G. Wodehouse's classic novel for the financially challenged Leave it to Psmith here is an advertisement for my services. Pass it on.

Ed will help you.
Ed is ready for anything.
DO YOU WANT
Someone To Manage Your Affairs?
Someone To Handle Your Business?
Someone To Take The Dog For A Run?
Someone To Assasinate Your Aunt?
Ed will do it!
CRIME NOT OBJECTED TO
Whatever Job You Have To Offer
(Provided it has nothing to do with fish)
Leave it to Ed!

Job Interview

What to wear?

Something that makes me look like this?



As intelligent and hard working as this?



My time off has given me the chance to reconnect with my Spotify. New loves:

Julie Doiron, Sparks and Ann Margaret.

Who wants a job when you can have Elvis?

Gossip Girl Here

Can We Get a Rewind?

Gossip Girl is back. But after the mid-season, not-quite-a-cliff-hanger cliff-hanger you might be needing a recap. I’ll take you through it Gossip Girl style, you don’t have to thank me, I know you love me, x o x o.

Spotted, a shadowy stranger was seen putting flowers on Bart Bass’s grave. But wait, aren’t those Chuck’s mother’s favourite blooms? Looks like there might be another woman in his life now, be careful B.

Speaking of blooms, love stories have certainly been blossoming. But haven’t we heard this one before? Nate loves Serena, and Dan loves Vanessa . . . didn’t it used to be the other way around? I guess there’s no going back from a ménage a trios with Lonely Boy . . .

And what about Little J? She looks like she’s got it all, Queen of Constance at last, but we hear she’s trading in more than courtiers these days. Let’s hope she doesn’t fall while she’s getting her kicks; we don't think she'd look so good in an orange jumpsuit . . .

And who am I? That’s a secret I’ll never tell.



This is hillarious.