IT'S SUNNY

(To the tune of 'I'm Horny' by the epic Mousse T)

IT'S SUNNY, IT'S SUNNY SUNNY SUNNY, SO SUNNY, SUNNY SUNNY SUNNY TODAY.

That is all.

Real People

I'm not sure if this is something that other people do too, but very frequently, when sitting upon a train or a bus or in a cafe, I'll look at somebody. Some girl with straightened hair and make-up on, a man in a business suit, and I'll think, that right there, that is a real person. All around us are these people. The people who look 'real.' They could be extras in Hollywood, they probably have very serious arguments on the phone, they look god-damned solid. If you pricked them they would bleed.

I, have never felt like one of these real people. I look at them with a mixture of envy and befuddlement. I wish I was real too, but I don't know how they do it. See, I do not look the same everyday. I look alright if I try, but often my hair is frizzy and there are spots under my nose clumsily plastered with the wrong colour foundation. I do stupid things like leave my purse on the underground, fall up stairs and go through phases of using expressions way too frequently. These days its, "shit's gwanin down" and "shit has hit the fan." For no apparent reason. Except that I wish I was more gangsta, perhaps. Fat chance.

I just know that I could never be a Hollywood extra. They'd look at me and think, nope, she's not palpable enough. Unlike that guy over there, he's a real bona fide, valid human. I'll bet he wakes up at the same time every day and walks his dog. He'll do.

I think that this 'real'-ness is something to do with a person seeming significant to themselves. Like their issues are really fucking important. They really fucking matter, like, even if its just to them, ok? Like, god. Have some fucking sympathy, is the kind of thing they'd say. I don't think I really have many issues and if I did, I'm really quite aware that they don't matter all that much. What can I say, I'm lucky.

Anyway the point of this post is that on Monday I am becoming a real live working woman with shit to get done, and bills to pay and a professional working appearance to maintain. And I'm frightened. I know that when I walk into the office all these solid people will be there. And I don't know how the hell to talk to people like that.

AGH.

Tall Painting

So damn cool:

Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee. (John Donne)

(Mark Arbeit)

(Ian Rankin)

(Aaron Hawks)

(Andreas Bitesnich)

(Lauren Bentley)

(Christian Coigny)

(Courtesy of The Fine Art Nude Network -> procrastination that makes me feel cultured.. I obviously don't actually know anything about these photographers... But I know I like the photos. I think there is way too much pressure to know about art. It makes it seem an elite thing.. off-putting... I'm sure more people would go to art galleries if they didn't have to worry about knowing. Knowing is such a frightening concept. "Do you know...?" Ugh. Nothing worse. I hate people who feel like they have to tell you everything they do know like they're doing you a favour. What dicks.Tour-guides and the like; that snooty friend who studied art-history (no, not you, Flora). Knowledge may well enhance appreciation but it should never, never be a requisite.

End of pretentious rant. Thank you for your time.)

My last year self:

Found this amongst my notes from a class last year - real, live stream of consciousness:

Ohmygoodnessiamintroubletoday.cannotconcentrateovermyheadthindfkdlsfnearlythereonlyhalfanhourleftthankthelordgoddefinitelyappearsmorefrequentlyduringboredmomentsthananyothertimeinmylifeithinkijustlostmyhusbanddododododosixminutesyaaayfinished:)

A list of words I can definitely spell except when I'm revising:

I've struggled at length with all of these words in the past week and thought it would be funny to make a list so that I can quantify scientifically how mushy my brain has become as a result of all this time spent with Shakespeare (and co):

• Critacise 
• admittedly that looks wrong, but a 'z' would be American and Americans talk funny, and I can't abide a word that only lets one vowel in. Its just not politically correct these days.
• Implisit
• "He implies it" that makes it "implisit." duh.
• Sherriff
• because two 'r's and two 'f's are better than one of each
• Discribe
• I can't believe I still get this one wrong: tragic.
• Chosing
• Tragic again
• Anticipatioun
• Probably how Chaucer would have spelt it...
• Hartfelt
• the emotions experienced by an adult deer/dear/deir
• Heavie
• A name for a Southern American hill-billie, perhaps Heavie-Joe-Bob in full.. or the 8th dwarf who loves heaving things about
• Solemnoties
• Aliens from Doctor Who-- they are naughty and solemn
• Bascket
• not sure what I was thinking here. Continental pronunciation perhaps?
• Behavior
• Still baffled as to why spell-check says this is wrong

Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and the Bored.

- Lord Byron

The Bespectacled Dog

"Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children." -George Bernard Shaw

Hoarding

This Is My Home from Mark on Vimeo.

Side what?

I'm in a girly mood which is pretty rare for me so I decided to try and do something nice with my hair which has finally grown long enough to do cool things with after almost three whole years since 'The Big Chop.' I decided a pretty side bun thing would be cool so I followed a video tutorial on youtube step by step in time with the kindly woman on the video. She looked super duper sophisticated and elegant at the end. This is what happened to me:

I look like Pippi Longstockings but without her awesome gravity defying pig-tails. Sucks to be me. This is even worse than that time I tried to curl my hair:

I'm the shittest girl ever.

I was aiming for this: 

I FOLLOWED ALL THE STEPS I DON'T GET WHY I DON'T LOOK LIKE HER NOW.

So Mrs. Squirrel, what do you think about love?

"Love is horses and hopping; hopeless dreams of being some kind of hawk. Goats and monkeys. Black rams and white youths."

Revisionnnn

You have to say that like Topol says "TRADITION" in that very remarkable way in Fiddler on the Roof.

Because revision is a grand and important process, not unlike the marriage of one Jew to another.

Typography

My friend Leon is a super-wizz genius at photoshop and did this to one of my poems:

Self Control...

...is something that I lack somewhat. Put a box of chocolate in front of me and regardless of how hungry I am I WILL eat every single one. Just the other day I ate a whole family-sized packet of Peanut M&Ms because my boyfriend left me alone with them for ten minutes.

Usually I'm pretty good when it comes to work though. Especially when I have loads to do and am on a tight schedule. The problem comes when I have lots of time in which to do something. I can never help but think that if I wanted to, then heck, I could just write it in the few days before the deadline. It would be much more stressful and all, but feasibly I definitely could. Even though I may have been given three whole weeks.

This is what has happened with my dissertation. I just can't bring myself to work on it for more than fifteen minutes without locking myself in a library or a nice cafe. There are just always so many other useful things I could be doing instead. Like revising for finals... or eating peanut m&m's... or playing Bubble Shootix (the best free Mac game ever)... or re-reading Twelfth Night or something.

So I've downloaded this app called 'SelfControl' which basically forces self-control upon the user by blocking all interesting websites for whatever period of time you decide you need. So far it hasn't really worked because I forgot to block my blog and I'm now blogging well into the half an hour time slot I set aside for writing about laughing madwomen in Victorian literature. But it's ok I'll do a proper timed session once I've got this out of my system.

The application seems to have slightly slowed my computer down but other than that I think its an excellent idea and I will be making use of 'SelfControl' from now until May 15th, when OMG my finals will be over and I will be free to face the real world again and frolic with facebook and twitter and all my friends and I'll be the happiest person in the whole world.

The logo is pretty intimidating though so I should probably get back to work for the next 7 minutes.

Download here: http://www.macupdate.com/app/mac/31289/selfcontrol

Stress-pot

Hey team,

I haven't managed to blog in a while because I've been a bit of a stresspot of late. For those of you who haven't heard, I'm in my final year of uni now. My exams are in a couple of months and I need to sort my life out asap. Today, I went to my careers centre and a kindly woman made me feel better by telling me that I can just find a job after I graduate and stop worrying about it for a while. Here is a list of other things that make me feel better:

1) CHOCOLATE. Yeah, yeah I'm a fucking cliche of a female. But chocolate has endorphins or whatever and they make me happy.

2) Bubbles. Bubbles are awesome and I love it when they pop. I would have said bubble-baths rather than just bubbles but we don't get baths at uni, just delightful walk in showers with nasty tiles that make your feet hurt if you stay in for too long. But bubbles away from bathtubs are still delightful and make me feel joyous and free.

3) Doing outrageous things, like wearing your boots into the shower. I totally actually did that. I wore my big biker boots and took in my bed-sheet and spun around a bit, stomping like a child in a rainy puddle. It was great until the sheet got really heavy and waterlogged. Then I realised I'd probably not have a dry sheet that evening. But I felt better nonetheless.