Wednesday, 31 March 2010

I'd sell a Lim...

Regarding myself as a "creative" somewhat, there is very seldom a day that goes by where I don't come across a piece of work and declare that I would happily exchange vital body parts to have written/ designed/ styled/ photographed/ drawn/ constructed/ created something THAT amazing - but this particularly discovery took the proverbial biscuit (beautifully though might I add).

Ladies and gentle dah-lings - Connie Lim.

Okay this infatuation has been aided massively (actually it's the main reason I love her work) by the fact that her designs are all based on playing cards. I feel if they were my illustrations I could die happy... me feels a tattoo twitch.

ps. She does prints - my birthday is September 10th ;)

Monday, 29 March 2010

Getting Purseonal

So I happened to go out on Friday night (nothing majorly new there) and clearing out of the usual haunt I happened across a purse on the floor. The club had shut up so I couldn't hand it in behind the bar and after hovering around for a while to check that she wasn't looking for it I popped it into my bag intending to look through it properly more sober and find a way of returning it to its rightful owner.

It felt a tad intrusive at first digging through her purse but then I figured she'd rather I found a way of returning it to her if I could, so conscience eased I merry delved. Very quickly it struck me how much you can learn about a girl just from digging through her purse!

From just a few cards, receipts and pieces of paper I learned of all this:

Her full name and her date of birth - revealing she'd had a birthday just days before.
That she could drive as she had a driving licence.
She was a fashion design student at the London College of Fashion (my desired university no less) sporting a student card but I guessed from the style of her actual purse that she was a more of a main stream designer or street styler.
That she preferred to go by her middle name as the middle initial was used on all the cards that didn't require her official title and I liked this as my purse mirrors this - with my NI card and bank cards sporting Lucy Victoria and my Boots card etc showing Ruby.
From a comic little pledge that she had a boyfriend or at least a very close boy mate that she shared a joking/ playful relationship with as she also had his railcard.
She used the London Underground regularly from an Oyster card.
That she had at some point stayed at a Parisian hotel as there was a key card left in there which suggested to me that she also had either a sentimental or mischievous streak from pilfering it.
She also wrote her name with a little heart over the "i" etc.

I really felt that I had gained quite a lot of insight into this girl's life in that small square of faux leather. I had a bit of a split reaction to that though, in some senses I felt like I was being invasive, that I was looking into things that I shouldn't be seeing. I had initially decided to look through it to find some form of contact but as it didn't contain any phone numbers in there and I couldn't find anyone I thought that was her matching the names on Facebook I resigned myself to handing it in to the bank that she had her account with. I felt a bit miffed actually that I hadn't actually got to hand it her back myself but then I think I quite like the romance of her remaining a little bit of a mystery - like a character more than an actual person - moulded more to my interpretation.

Thursday, 25 March 2010

Stolen Toast

Well my dah-lings - things have not exactly been the best for a while now (to say the least). I am - I think what the expression would deem as- "up shit creek without ones paddle".

There were several of those icing on the cake moments today; I happened to cover my favourite vintage lace dress in acrylic paint, my beloved soup at college was mushroom flavoured so I had to pass - and then the meal I did have I later ceremoniously vomited - rather gutted to lose my one decent free solid meal of the day to the porcelain telephone, my ceiling still wasn't fixed today (despite being promised it would be), my bedroom bulb has blown etc etc.

Now I am not going to sit here and write a long self indulgent and self pitying rant (okay maybe there may be hints of that) but I am rather at my wits end with reagards to having no money - desperately chasing around finding ways of getting an overdraft or a credit card or something (I am completely useless when it comes to financial know how - I only know how to spend money). With muchas gracias to being raped by the bank for overdraft fees I now am (without any humour) overdrawn again with no money coming in for a while and even when it does it's not going to cover the rent or bills, I have no food (save two tins of tuna fish and a packet of dried cous cous) and basically not much to survive on. Except I've realised I've got much more nourishment in my life from other sources.

I really hit a brick wall when I got in my room tonight - I am not a crier by nature but I had to have a good boo tonight - munching away on (stolen from housemate) toast with (stolen from housemate) maple syrup I seemed to just crack up. The taste of maple syrup reminds me far too much of Canada and I'm pining for a nice simple life of being young and careless and living with Mummy dearest - where I am fed bountiful amounts (aka till I can't move) on her home cooking and my roof over my head is taken care of by someone else's salary. ... I'll never ever take my blessed upbringing for granted again! Anyway I digress ... I got in had a good weep on my toast feeling magnificently sorry for myself to The Carpenters especially at realising that I didn't actually have enough money to top myself (now THAT'S tragic) and sent a little message to the little star in my world - generally moping and feeling sorry for myself and detailing to her how crap life is. Being the wonderful friend that she is she replied and verbally kissed better all my scrapes and bruises.

I'd really got myself into a knot this evening as things have built up over the week but her messages just brought home to me that I could have absolutely nothing but I'll always be stupendously rich in that fact that I am so so blessed to have such wonderful caring friends around me. I've been offered financial help left right and centre, listening ears, cheering up and constantly being told that people are here for me but there needs to be an especially-special thanks my one little star who has put up with me being a human cabbage this week. I know that I'll be okay because I am warmly encircled by beautiful people to whom I am so lucky to have care about me. I might be poor fiscally but I'm more than the wealthiest woman alive when it comes to richness of friendship.

Sunday, 7 March 2010

Viva La Diva

I am no stranger to a dance floor, a few (no need for specifics here) glasses of wine and generally going out gallivanting and tarting around in my favourite wardrobe gems.

These last few months I really feel I have come out of myself - and whilst I know I am beginning to be known for my party girl antics I do not necessarily feel it's a bad thing. I manage to keep on top of my responsibilities and whilst spending 5 days a week in college and both days at the weekend working I don't particularly think I should feel any guilt in going out and partying (frequently).

For me the biggest (and best) part about going out is getting ready - or rather creating the outfit. Staying true to my mantra of "every day is fancy dress dah-ling" nights out on are just an added incentive to push this just that little bit further. Call it attention seeking if you will but I like to create a reaction when I go out - my appearance is a huge expression of self and I'm very fortunate in that I can display my biggest passion on my personage and communicate that about myself. I like to be slightly over the top in a sense that is almost self deprecating expressing my playful qualities.
This Saturday I rather took this to another level, in the usual head to toe 40's pin up styling, customary sunglasses in a dark nightclub and a recently addition of a black lace fan I then decided it would be a rather good idea to get someone to write (in permanent marker no less) "Viva La Diva" across my chest. I am a camera whore - there is no point in me denying this and so felt the marker pen brandish made a lovely little addition to the monotony of drunken pictures.

It's a shame some people don't understand my sense of humour. When I came back home and mentioned my antics on Facebook (as one often does slightly intoxicated). I got a message from a friend who said she'd happened across a Twitter post of an acquaintance of hers reading "Just seen someone with Viva La Diva written across her tits - aka I have an STI". Well I found that quite simply charming. Despite frequenting places that are supposedly "alternative" I then quickly came to realise that even though my eccentricities may be more accepted (tolerated) in certain genres of institution there are always going to be those who don't quite get it - or feel the need to mock in order to get one up. Personally I feel that was an expression of insecurity on his part- he knew what he couldn't touch *bats eyelashes and pouts*.

... I feel next week I shall go out with "Fuck You Jonno" written across my "tits" instead.

Thursday, 4 March 2010

Home Cooking

My kitchen ceiling happens to have collapsed and now sporadically leaks water from the bathroom above on to the floor. It was a joyous and rapturous discovery.

I often feel guilty about the very litle amount of time I seem to make for my family - it certainly isn't for lack of wanting to see them, just one of the downsides to having 7 days of 7 occupied with unavoidable commitments. One day leads into another and before I know it - bang - I hadn't actually been back to visit them since Christmas. So it came as a nice excuse did having my ceiling explode to move home, however briefly, and spend time with them.

Whilst I lived here permanently I couldn't wait to get out - every last little thing became an irritant; I could not wait to have my own space, the freedom to do what I pleased, eat what and when I felt like (ditto consume vast amounts of alcohol) and generally not have to be answerable to anyone but myself. Once I moved out to Fashionista Towers that liberty was amazing but a few months down the line the realities of being responsible did hit home a little more, bills do not pay themselves, food does not buy itself and when houses being to fall apart (quite literally) it takes a lot of swearing at landlords to get it sorted pronto. The grass is always greener as they say.

I had been feeling rather stressed of late, my new home is beautiful and I love my life and lifestyle very much but sometimes it can all be a bit too much of a good thing. Giving two nights of my week for having to sacrifice the space to do the things I can't do back at my Dad's (ie. go out drinking midweek, smoking inside, playing loud music, eating as much or as little as I want, being able to be completely alone if I felt like it etc) has certainly been a fair trade for the constant laughter I have exhibited since I arrived, the enjoyment of food made for me that that hadn't been prepared in either a toaster/ kettle/ microwave and wasn't consumed straight out of the packaging, the washing up being kept on top of, a working bathroom and being surrounded constantly by people that love and appreciate me.

I miss home in many ways. Last night I felt like I had instantly shaved years off my life, curled up at 8.30pm in bed with my sister wearing out sized pjs, eating mini eggs, watching a teen movie, being brought a cup of tea and being asked what time I wanted waking up in the morning and being given my bus fare. It was rather blissful.

However I know that much longer and the sugar coated idealistic view would wear off and the arguments over who's left damp towels about/ eaten the last yogurt/ not emptied the dishwasher/ used or stolen such a thing/ forgotten to feed the pets/ not sorted the washing out/ lost the remote etc would be back in full force and we'd generally very quickly get on each others nerves (as all normal functional families do). I like being answerable to myself because I do respect my father too much to just go off doing what I pleased living under his roof and my independence means a great deal to me.
I don't believe that now and again going back to this child like state is a bad thing - we all need parenting from time to time and I feel very blessed that I have here as an escapism - it's a beautiful and much treasured resource in my life and I know I am very lucky to have them to turn to.