14 Aug 2009

What's Yours in Mine and What's Mine is Mine and other bits of filth.

So anyway, yes, I've been a bit rubbish with the blogging recently. But I felt I had to come back and post because I have some really exciting news.

I was right. Lady Gaga IS a man and has a penis. It's on Holy Moly so it must be true. http://www.holymoly.com/celebrity-news/does-lady-gaga-have-penis24035

It's so satisfying to be right, really it is. Not that there is anything wrong with hermaphrodites. But I knew it lalalalalalalalalala. I like the way s/he tries to hide it. The little shimmy off the motorbike. But no, unless her internal protection against the crimson tide has decided to show itself, that is no normal crotch accessory.

In other news, some poor starving person has been complaining about the state of their pay and expenses. In these difficult times everyone is struggling and feeling the pinch. We really have to stick together and sympathise with this.... oh wait a second..... sorry the person who complained was an MP. And they said "MPs were being forced to live on "rations" and had been treated like "s---". I think the words "ratners moment" come to mind. Really....

And finally, I did the deed. NO you filthy minded creatures, not THAT. (did both ages ago....) No, I got married. So I am Mrs Stupidgirl. And all I have to say about being married, I have to steal from my father-in-law's speech.

"Somebody said that marriage is a 50/50 partnership. But whoever said that knows nothing about women and nothing about fractions."

He's a wise man my father-in-law.

Thats all for now. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building.

13 May 2009

Standing In The Way of Control

Thanks Beth Ditton. Couldn't think of a better way to launch back into the blog than with a title from a song by an obese lesbian singer that has posed nude on the cover of an arthouse glossy mag. And it is a fricking great song. Again with the lesbians in my blog. I must be obsessed.
And I am to a degree, obsessed with women's bodies. Although not so much in *that* way anymore.Oversharing corner, that's this blog this evening.

So yes, I've been badgirl blogger recently. *hangs head in shame*. Sorry, real life took over. I didn't have time to rant and write incoherent editorial on random topics that entered my head for an invisible audience living in my computer. I had stuff to do. Like stay up late and write out evening wedding invitations (for future reference, this is a bad idea - in hindsight, this should have been obvious). Or see actual real live friends. Or put together the layout of the book of my boudoir pics (frickin website crashed half way through - sucked big time). Oddly enough I have had no time to unblock the sink (SB seems to be shirking his man duties here big time - we are so gender specific in our chores - the 1950's are alive and well in stupidland), neither have I had time to deal with the EU mountain of laundry in our bedroom. Or put away the other EU mountain of clean laundry. Shirley Conran got it wrong when she said `Life is to short to stuff a mushroom`, what she actually meant was `life is too short to pair up all the black socks in the laundry basket and wonder what to do with all the odd ones`.

Instead I have been busy being Goodgirl and going indoor rock climbing.Yes, you heard that right. Sport climbing. Me, a dyed in the wool JP, climbing. I had to cut all my carefully sea-kelp supplemented nails off, remove my rock and wear 3/4 length trousers. Which really do nothing for an hourglass figure. And I'm still recovering from the shock of what, exactly, a harness does for your ass and muffin top. It's not good. Seriously. Its like wearing the outline of a giant nappy. And the last time I wore anything that came upto my belly button was in about 1995. Yes, sorry but that whole fashion for high-waisted stuff back in around April 2008 was just not something I was going to EVER seriously consider. Unless my body divided itself in half.

Anyway climbing. To those who didn't know, my body looks like I've been partaking in some serious S&M. Rope burns on my hand (which bloody hurt). My knees are a kind of greeny-browny-yellowy-purpley-black colour. Which just clashes with like, everything.... Tons of scrapes on my arms and elbows. And my whole body ached like i'd been whipped for several hours. (just to be clear, I never actually have been whipped for several hours - although I like to think I'd make a decent Dom) And to be honest I think climbing is actually more fun that S&M. Although I did completely freeze at the top of the rope on Sunday morning. But I would say that is a fairly normal response when you're 12 meters off the floor and your eejit of a boyfriend is encouraging you let go of the wall and clutch onto a KNOT while he lowers you to the floor. Perhaps I just have issues with letting go and trust?
Anyway I'm going back on saturday for more. I'm just a glutton for punishment. But I do know how to tie a decent knot now. Perhaps I could be a Dom......

What else has been going on? Well lets see - I've been forced to hand over 4years of expenses to my ....oh no, sorry was getting myself confused with ALL THE MP'S SIPHONING OFF TAX PAYERS MONEY!!! Sorry just a bit irate over this one. It's just funny that they thought they could get away with it for so long. I mean really, £41k worth of house improvements, ££ on a boat, christ's sake its ridiculous.

And then swine flu - which as some wag said "is it just the past tense of pigs might fly?" Indeed. Pandemic shmandemic. It'll never happen, although sneezing/coughing is now a big no-no on public transport. Unless you want the entire carriage to shunt away from you and to be shunned by the people in the seats nearest you. Like, hello IT'S HAYFEVER SEASON. Duh. Although I did have a couging fit in Tesco on my lunch break the other day and by the time I got out of the shop I was convinced I had swine flu, TB and was coughing up blood.
Except I wasn't.
Can anyone say `hypochondriac`?

Anyway that's it. I'm fairly senseless with anger by now because the troglodyte on The Apprentice that I think looks like the *thing* out of the Saw movies has not been fired. There is no justice in the world. I need to go and have a little lie down. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building

27 Apr 2009

Generationwhynot Official Soundtrack

Some clever clogs shoe ad (clarks maybe?) once had the strapline, *life is a catwalk, walk it*. Which I think is a good idea - and certainly, round here that advice is taken to heart. South London is like a permanent fashion show. And when you're wearing 4inch heels - which I do, a lot - who said tall girls shouldn't wear heels, what a load of shyte, who wants to look stumpy with flippers for feet - life is just so much better. It's impossible to feel fat in 4in stilletoes.

Anyway getting slightly sidetracked by shoes here. Funny how most women can be divided into tribes by their preference for different accessories. I am most definitely a shoe woman. At last count I had around 30 pairs. But that's nothing - I have a friend who has over 75 pairs and her husband is now forcing her to operate a 1 in 1 out policy with regards to new shoes. How cruel is that!

(.....continuing this post 1 week later.....) this blog post just does not want to be written.... And I really must focus after allowing myself to get side-tracked by shoes. The point of this post was..... (big mental *hoick* back on track)..... the songs that get stuck in our heads - hence the catwalk ramble.....you gotta have good music to walk to.

A random assortment for me, in my head, over the last few days has been......

Fernando - Abba
Born Slippy - Underworld
Whole Again - Radioactive Pussy (if you can't work out which band this is.....)
Hey Baby - No Doubt (NOT f****king DJ Otzi)
I Dreamed a Dream - also Abba..... this is thanks to that bloody BGT Scottish woman being everywhere, although yes, I do know she sang the Les Mis one
Superman - Stereophonics
Keep On Running - Spencer David Group - this one is from going to the marathon to cheer on my dad (impressively for an old git he beat Jordan + Peter Andre)

Anyway it is funny isn't it how songs just get stuck in our heads. And sometimes most inappropriately so. Ppppppppoker Face has frequently been in my head as I walk in the door to work purely because the loo paper masquerading as daily news has had coverage of Lady Blah blah's previous wardrobe trauma. So there I am singing Ppppppoker Face all day.

Another highly addictive track - I Kissed A Girl - Katie Perry. Now I am not slagging off Katie Perry, I love her. I think she is a lovely little poppette. But a ditty about lipstick lesbianism is not something you really want going round and round and round in your head ad infinitum during a finance meeting.

And all these songs going round in our heads make up the soundtrack to our lives. A complete mix - that can keep you going when you thought you'd have to stop walking.

So anyway, I thought - in the spirit of missing out on list night, I would put together a list of tracks comprising the OST for this blog! Listen to them while you read and its like I'm there, with you.

Creepy isn't it hahahahah

Track 1 Just a Girl - no doubt (gotta love Gwen S, before she SOLD OUT)
Track 2 All Is Full of Love - Bjork. its just beautiful and chilled
Track 3 Street Spirit - Radiohead
Track 4 - Umbrella - Manic Street Preachers
Track 5 - Starlight - Muse
Track 6 - Slide Away - Oasis
Track 7 - Come As You Are - Nirvana
Track 8 - The Ballad of Lucy Jordan - Marianne Faithful (from the end of Thelma + Louise)Track 9 - Looks Like Chaplin - Stereophonics
Track 10 - Gimme Shelter - Rolling Stones
Track 11 - Queer - Garbage
Track 12 - Road Rage - Catatonia
Track 13 - .......... stupid girl garbage

I guess really thats the soundtrack to me. And to sum it up, the most romantic thing that was never said to me - *I wanna be the song you hear in your head* - U2.

Thats all for now. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building

21 Apr 2009

Does "anal-retentive" have a hyphen? Perfection and other irrationalities

In case you're unsure, the quote that provided the title for this post is from *Alison Bechdel, 1990 Dykes to Watch Out For calendar* So yes folks, I'm back after my weeklong writers block affliction. Along with my dire taste in quotes and lesbian jokes. Please don't be offended all you public-morality/Mary Whitehouse types. Although I doubt there are many of you reading this blog!

I hope you've missed me. My lack of blogging has been pointed out - I have been publicly shamed. Although only a wedding forum, so its not that bad. I've just not had

a) Any genius ideas for stuff to write about on here
b) been busy
c) Had a small and not serious trip to A+E

But I haven't forgotten about you bloggettes (my word for blog fans), and don't think I don't love you anymore. I have LOTS (well some, about 3 really) of new ideas for blog posts. And today's post is NOT about lesbians, and its NOT about quotes. It's about perfection and worrying. As they tend to go perfectly manicured hand in bitten nails hand.

Yes, perfect, that thing we all strive to be. And clearly, I am sooooooooo wayyyyyyy perfect. Not. And that's what I worry about.

No really, I am exhausted. It seems that everywhere currently there seems to be this idea of the perfect woman. And really, you know what, I don't think she exists and you fucking well can't have it all. It's not possible. Not without losing part of yourself and possibly your sanity at the same time.

There are several areas in my life that I worry about being *perfect* in, but I can't carry on like this because firstly I will become even more self-obsessed than i currently am, secondly I'll have a nervous breakdown and thirdly - most importantly - my friends will get bored of me whinging on and on, and then one of the things I worry about (having no friends) will have happened anyway. And breathe........

So, I worry about being a good friend a lot. Have I called so-and-so and checked how they are and what they're up to, have we been for a drink, do I monopolise the conversation with wedding talk, are they happy - am I there for them enough, have I been to their house too many times and is it their turn to come to mine (just reading this makes me think, what? am I 5 years old?!), do I owe them a drink, do I talk over the telly too much (often DVDs to watch with friends are selected on the basis that we can talk over them and not miss the plot)... etc etc on and on ad infinitum. Yes, I know, I think too much. In my defence (cue the violins) I didn't really have any friends at all until I went to uni, was bullied etc etc yadda yadda, so i really value my friends now.

And onto my next source of worrying. Being a perfect/good girlfriend. Yes, anyone who is any kind of feminist is hitting me on the head with a big mallet made of recycled beauty magazines I know - I have read my Germaine Greer and grown in my body hair (on occassion, not currently). I don't know why I have this perfect 1950's girlfriend in my head. But as Jerry Hall famously said * to keep a man, you must be a maid in the living room, a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom* - and for some reason I can't get this idea out of my head. I want to have a perfect body, be a fantastic (healthy) cook and keep the house looking lovely. Plus doing all my normal stuff like blogging, talking to the people who live in my computer, reading, faffing around, seeing friends, attending the gym (part of the perfection malarkey) oh, and also going to work and sleeping. I am not sure it is possible to do all of this. Or even sensible. I am not entirely sure that SB even cares how toned my bottom is, as long as he is the only person who gets to touch it. But I still want to be perfect.

My quest for the *perfect* body is slightly verging on being a little unhealthy I think. I once saw a quote on a piece of A-Level art coursework (in context, this piece of art was created by a melodramatic teenage student at a private all girls day school in the centre of London - I hasten to add that this student was not me) Anyway the quote said *thin enough is invisible*. I am not sure what that means, but it rings a bell with me.

I like to be thin enough that I can feel my ribcage on my back and on my front. I know that's not entirely normal and/or healthy. And its not a state that my body often exists in. But I don't have any eating disorders (as any IRL friends will testify) and I don't over-exercise. But generally I exist in a state of war with my body. I hate it, it hates me. Occasionally I love it and it shows that it returns my affections by not looking fat in my skinny jeans. I keep reminding myself that my body has functions and uses - it's not just a living breathing oversized coat hanger. But it's hard to remember that given the images of women in the media that we see every day. My ideal body is not mega skinny with huge boobs. It's more of an athlete's body - completely toned and slightly sculpted. But with boobs. Gisele Bundschen's body is perfection to me. As is Liv Tylers. Weirdly, I'm not a Kate Moss fan. She's not sexy, she has the body of a 7 year old girl. With a coke habit. Yuck.

I am not sure I will ever stop being obsessed with my body and how I look. In fact, if I'm really honest, I am dreading being pregnant because I won't be able to pretend I have control over my body shape any longer. And I won't be able to go to the gym with a new born baby and run off all my pregnancy fat. I know, it's not normal and selfish. And it is about control.

To be honest, I am not even sure what would happen if I did achieve my idea of the perfect body. It's not like all my friends or SB would suddenly notice. I'm fairly slim anyway. So what's the point. I'm not going to be on the cover of a magazine, or win model competitions or be asked to post naked for anything. It's a completely pointless aim. But it allows me to retain control over one thing in my life. And for the record I'm a size 10-12, 5"8 and weigh around 10 stone.
I won't get started on how I feel about my face. That's a whole separate post worth of angst.

I'm not so sure this post is that funny anymore. Damn.....I worry also about a mix of the following:

1) Whether I am crap at my job. That's it in a nutshell. For some reason, in my weird + twisted psyche, how good I am at my job is a reflection of how I am as a person. Which I know is complete bollocks. I didn't say I was rational

2) Whether I am just a bit dim. I did a difficult degree, although I achieved a Desmond (aka a party degree). And now I think that my brain is just atrophying. I could translate Homer. Now I can barely decipher a takeaway menu. I completely identify with Bridget Jones and her *chechnyaaaaaaaaaaa* and *throwing matches* moments. I do read the papers, really. And I do know what's happening in the world.

3) If I will ever be able to eat food that normal people consider spicy, instead of oversensitive little me.

4) If I will ever be a tidy and clean person around the house. Surely this gene kicks in once you have children (clutches at straws)

You know what, that's enough self-indulgent tosh for one night. But it was quite cathartic writing all that down. Night-night bloggettes. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building.

13 Apr 2009

A Day Late & A Dollar Short

I think you should know that I am always, reliably, late. Hence list day being today instead of yesterday. But easter monday is practically a sunday in anycase. Still in Wales - albeit with sunburn now. yes, really, sunburn. Instead of looking like an undead creature, I am now still undead looking with patches of red.

Onto the lists. Was going to do a *comedy* list of places SB + I are NOT going on Honeymoon. Except I might actually cry. With some of the ideas we are coming up with, it would appear that we have not met each other before, instead of dating for 7 years. In 7 years, I don't think I've ever mentioned hiking as a hobby. Yet, top of SB's list for the honeymoon is - you guessed it - a hiking trip. How romantic. (please I am sure there are a whole load of you out there going *well, a hiking honeymoon would be romantic, is she crazy* - but if so, I would advise you to reconsider your knowledge about the author of this blog) Just realised that the above sentence assumes there are multiple readers of this blog - who are not people that actually know me.

Anyway, it appears we're going to Innsbruck for two weeks. I can live out my Heidi/Chalet girls ambitions/wear a dirndl (whatever that is)/buy SB lederhosen and SB can go trekking and swimming and ogle girls in dirndls. Plus, its cheap as it's out of ski season.

Anyway, onto actual list. List of favourite books. this could go on for awhile. When I worked in a bookshop I frequently got told off for hiding behind the restocking cart and reading......

1) The Handmaids Tale - Margaret Atwood. Offred and her tale of oppression is, in my opinion, one of the most unique and original novels ever written. If you are even remotely interested in feminism and the repression of women you should read this book. It is fantastically gripping - and I don't even like utopian literature - and completely mind expanding. The film is pretty good too - with the now sadly deceased Natasha Richardson in it. READ THIS BOOK

2) The Secret History - Donna Tartt. An amazing novel, even more amazing given it's a debut novel. Set in an elite private college in upstate New England, the story revolves around the antics of some snobbish, intellectual Classics scholars - and how a single action blows apart their carefully hidden lives. Horrifying and amusing by turns, this book will keep you gripped until the end. However, bear in mind, this is not an average thriller but a challenging read that will keep you going until the last page. Definitely one for long winter evenings with a big mug of hot chocolate.

3) American Psycho - Bret Easton Ellis. Not for thos with weak stomachs. The premise of the book revolves around Patrick Bateman, our charismatic, handsome narrator. Set on Wall Street in 80's New York, Bateman goes on a nihilist, violent killing spree across his chums, colleagues and unfortunate others that get in his path. Or does he? Through out the book he hammers home the point that Yuppie culture is shallow, selfish and pointless. And yet we are treated to the inner workings of Patrick's mind - does he really commit horrendous acts of violence - or are they just the sick fantasies of his twisted mind. This book really proves that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover - and that you can never really know someone. The book is also incredibly funny - and watch out for Patrick's endless pages of monologues about the band Genesis. Also a great film starring Patrick Bale.

*** It is worth noting that Donna Tartt was at college with, and allegedly dated Bret Easton Ellis. Apparently he is the inspiration for one of the characters in The Secret History but I'll let you decide which one.

4) Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier. "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again". A wonderful gothic romance set in a beautiful but creepy mansion in Cornwall. Narrated by the nameless second wife of Maxim De Winter, it revolves around the mysterious death of Maxim's first wife - the legendary Rebecca and the repercussions this has across his second marriage. Ultimately tragic and completely compelling, this book is a great read for a holiday - and certainly the main characters are completely unforgettable - as anyone who has seen the fantastic Laurence Olivier film will testify.

5) The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold. A dreamy read, narrated by Susie Salmon (who is brutally raped + killed at the start of the book), from heaven as she watches over her family, friends, killer and the detective working on her case. A beautiful, wonderful book that really made me think about my concepts of heaven and life after death - and equally how a family and a community survive and carry on after a violent death. I won't say anymore, but if you chose one book from my list to read, this should be it. You can read this one anywhere.

6) The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini. This book has had a lot of publicity recently - as has his second novel Thousand Splendid Suns. As quite rightly. Both novels tell of life under the Taliban in 70's + 80's Afghanistan, from a male point of view (Kite Runner) and female point of view (Suns) and are essentially coming of age novels. They are both eye opening in terms of the subject matter, particularly as our views of the Taliban/Afghanistan are so coloured by the media. Easy to get into, and gripping and emotional to the last page, again these are books you can read anywhere. The movie of the Kite Runner is also fantastic - but take some tissues!

7) Atonement - Ian McEwan. A fantastic enthralling, romantic, tragic novel told from multiple points of view. which most of you are probably familliar with from the recent film starring Keira Knightley (eurghhhhh but lovely dress) and the ever foxy James McAvoy (yum). A tragic chain of events is set in place when 13 year old Briony Tallis witnessed an event and completely miscontrues it. Set during in the 1940's and then the early 1990's, this novel brings to life the difficulties of living during WW2 and the social niceties of the upper class.

8) Fairy Tale - Alice Thomas Ellis. Quirky and unusual, Fairy Tale is simultaneously bizarre and humourous -and a great introduction to Ellis' unique writing style. Seventeen year old Eloise - and her lover Simon, have moved to a remote cottage in the Welsh countryside. Strange events start to happen to Eloise and 4 men in suits appear at the cottage - but who are they and what do they want? In the second half of the novel Eloise returns from a walk with a baby in ancient wicker cradle - but where has the baby come from, what does it have to do with the men in suits - and what will happen to Eloise? Fantastically atmospheric and entertaining, this is a gem of a novel I discovered long forgetten on a library shelf - and loved it so much I bought my own copy. I've never met anyone else who's read it, but you can buy a copy on Amazon.

9) Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell. A fantastic belle-epoque epic. I don't think there is anything I can say about this that hasn't already been said. From the opening page with Scarlett complaining that she has nothing to wear (!), to the very end "Tomorrow is another day" after Rhett has left and Scarlett is flung across the staircase. I can't read this book without picturing the gorgeous Vivien Leigh. A vintage heroine for modern times and a surprisingly easy to read epic - I first read this when I was 14.

10) Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture - Douglas Coupland. I couldn't really not have this. It's where I got the inspiration for my blog name from. I first selected this book in the library as it has a bright pink jacket. So it stands out a mile. The anthem of the jilted generation - the over educated and under employed, the main characters in this book have turned away from the usual McJobs and opted for a life in the Californian desert. Within the confines of drugs, heavy drinking and a liberal sprinkling of irony, Andy, Dag and Claire reveal their lives to each other and the reader. Cleverly annotated with footnotes and margin illustrations, the writing is erudite, fresh (occassionally glib) with lots of lethargic grungey rage peeping through the cracks.

And the writing on this blog is crap compared to all the books mentioned above. I have successfully terrified myself into never writing a book. In fact I need to go and have a lie down. Well actually, eat my Easter Monday roast beef. But never mind. Thank you and goodnight.

Stupidgirl has left the building

11 Apr 2009

The Joys of Spring

Well, I know I normally attempt to be funny on this blog. Regardless of how successful I am at this, I don't think I'll be much good at being funny tonight as I am all blissed out in the countryside and have nothing to take the piss out of. I don't think so anyway.

After being a grumpy biatch all week - well it has been a tad stressful, I took myself off for a lovely walk in the hills this morning. Up at the crack of dawn (and what a lovely crack it is - sorry, couldn't resist some filth), the sun was shining, the sky was blue and the birds were singing their little hearts out in the trees. I didn't even need my iPod for company. Just wandering up a country lane to a lovely little village at the top of a hill with 2 pubs (!), a church, no corner shop and amazing views of the Welsh countryside. I feel that my behaviour seems far too normal here, so you should know that I indulged in a little accidental animal scaring...well how am I supposed to know that cute foals sticking their heads through hedges don't like having a flash go off in their face. Death by mamma horse is not something I had planned for my easter weekend. I then had the shit scared out of me by daddy horse on the other side of lane doing the horse requivalent of barking loudly at me. Before you report me to the RSPCA, you should know that a bunch of sheep then scared the crap out of ME. Further down the lane, I was admiring the cute lambs frolicking around (if thats not a word made for sheep, I dont know what is), when all the sheep in the whole goddamn field turned as one (do they have fucking sheep radar or what) and glared at me. Now i've not been glared at by 1 sheep before let alone an entire field full. Although perhaps it's hard-wired into them to get shirty with anyone who looks like they might be coming to take their lamb babies off for slaughter. But still it was bloody alarming - the sheep version of The Birds perhaps. I was mildly alarmed that a farmer would appear and or I would be starring in my own version of Eden Lake.

I have also been to the beach today. Also blissful, and crucially, lacked any livestock scaring. I did however fear I was going to be the first person to die (or at least suffer a bruised coccyx) from falling off a 3 foot cliff whilst clambering over rocks. Or drowning in 3 ins of water in a rock pool. I certainly have a rather tragic case of wind burn and sea-breezed hair (sadly this does not involve vodka and cranberry juice). The only thing missing from our 1hour long walk on the beach was an ice cream. Actually, I've never understood why someone decided that a rich sticky creamy sweet was an ideal match for a windy gritty area. Someone illogical, that's who. But still you can't beat a lovely Mr Whippy with a flake, I am normally a Green & Black's/Ben & Jerry's fan but when it comes to the beach, only a 99 will do. Except we didn't have one. I feel very hard done by now.

The day was finished off with a lovely trip to a *proper* pub and a pint of cider. By which I mean a strongbow. I know strongbow is scuzzy cheap cider, but I never got hammered on cider as teenager - I was toughened up on tequila shots, drunk illegally outside under-18's discos - cider was for wussies. So i only recently discovered the wonder that is cider - luminous orange magners or pee-coloured strongbow, either is good, I'm not fussy.

I am sure my day of rural bliss really makes for a good post, but tune in the same time tomorrow for this sunday's list. Thank you and goodnight.

Stupidgirl has left the building

10 Apr 2009

Insert entertaining and witty post title here, with suitable easter based innuendo.

Wow, a 2nd post in less than 24 hours. Which is pretty stupid of me, as I am entirely unsure what I am going to write about now. It's not like a lot has happened since I posted last night.

Today I have gotten up (after SB woke me up to tell me that we need to get up and go to Wales - currently still at home, SB at gym.....) anyway, I've gotten up, showered + dressed (which I always like to consider an achievement) and cleaned up the kitchen, the sitting room + the bathroom and done some laundry (well I took it off the airer + stuck it in the basket on its 2 week long journey back into my closet). And then got stuck talking to the little people in my (head), sorry I mean my computer, again. But hey, its raining and its Good Friday. All I have to do is pack my suitcase and trundle down to Holland + Barrett to buy some iron supplements.

Holland + Barrett is my new favourite shop. no longer do I pledge my allegiance to Waterstones, or New Look, or Primarni. No, a health food store. It has supplements for everything. I feel like there must a supplement to cure, for example, my complete inabillity to drink everything in my glass (unless its alcoholic, no probs there). Or to cure my inability to accessorise correctly, or my addiction to chocolate. Did you know that sea kelp makes your hair grow thicker + shiner (just like a horse...) - I am scoffing this at regular intervals during the day, yet cannot remember to take my epilepsy medication without several reminders. Although clearly my priorities are correct - hair before health? Plus I do love my local Holland + Barrett - who clearly know a sucker bride-to-be when they see one (perhaps they have a little alert and a list of over-priced, ridiculous supplements comes up on the till?) - as when I ventured in to purchase said Sea Kelp, the lady at the till told me my ring (engagement ring) was beautiful but I looked tired and did I need some Vitamin B something or other..... or some manuka honey? WTF is Manuka Honey anyway. Really, honey is honey is sugar is something I spread on toast and become addicted to.

And i don't need to become addicted to anything else. You do know about my terrible biscuit addiction. As SB well knows, I will do anything for a decent biscuit - read anything you like into that statement, that was my intent. At this point I can highly recommend Fox's biscuits. After many taste tests, they are the clear winner on the high streeet as to best quality chocolate biccies. Closely followed by the posh foreign ones with dark chocolate and then Jaffa Cakes - which with only 1 gram of fat per cake, mean you can eat a whole box in one go and not feel guilty.

Anyway my new addiction is to alcohol. Not in an AA/trendy hollywood way, but in a discovered-new-alcoholic-beverage-feel-the-need-to-tell-everyone. It is..... Gordon's Sloe Gin. Apparently this has been around for years - kind of Grandmothers ruin. But it is bloody yummy. A good measure of this with some OJ causes a very pleasant mellow sensation. And it doesn't have all the wankiness associated with wine. I don't know about you but I never get a (puts on plummy voice) *smells of straw and autumn and dog shit and tastes of apples and berries and breast milk* thing going on with wine. Its bloody wine, just goddamn drink it. It's either nice or not nice and, after 2 bottles, has the same effect on you anyway!

Other things on my mind today are - why is packing so boring and difficult? It is, even when you're only going to your inlaws for a few days. Why is it never sunny on the bank holiday? Is it a rule? Have I lost the plot re: interesting topics for this post? Can i justify taking a packet of mini eggs in the car with me to wales even though I've only been to the gym once this week.
Does anyone else get diet denial? As in, I know I'm supposed to be eating well + exercising but I really can't seem to get my (fat, cellulitey) ass in gear. Mini eggs are so much nicer - and the bigger bags are heavy, so in effect its like weight lifting.

I really do have to get off this blog. Aside from the fact this wins my award for most boring blog post ever, I really should do some packings. Enjoy the sloe gin + mini eggs. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building

9 Apr 2009

I Eat Mine With A Spoon

Yes, that's right. A spoon. All the better to get the sticky stuff out of all the brown nooks and crannies. And then I dig the rest out with my finger and lick it off. Creme eggs. I'm talking about creme eggs.

In case you'd forgotten, its Easter. Again. Surprisingly. And it is great, not 1 but TWO bloody bank holiday. TWO lie ins, and 4 nights worth of lazy drinking. Easter is also the end of Lent. Also known as the end of 6 weeks of purgatory for the crazy fools who think that it's a good idea to give up chocolate/cake/alcohol/anything remotely fun and make the rest of us sane, sensible willpower-lacking folks feel guilty. Which perhaps is just me. I love easter bank holiday. Its one of those holidays that reminds me of school + the sheer excitement of summer coming. It's all about crap on the tellybox and the legalised consumption of EXCESSIVE amounts of chocolate. And best of all it links back to a pagan fertility festival. (eggs = fertility symbol = shagging in the fields = encourage crops to grow = weird farmer logic).
So effectively a holiday celebrating chocolate and sex. I know that this post is probably massively sacriligious to any practising Christians. But I doubt there are any practising Christians reading this blog. I may have alienated them several weeks ago after talking about gin and lingerie and lesbians. Not things the Church of England is known for. But then again celebrating someone rising from the dead is slightly odd too.

Back to the vague plot of this thread - easter and holidays - I thought I'd actually go completely off the point and just say that I am still really unnerved by people actually reading this blog. I mean really, you must be crazier than I am. And to find it funny? Actually its reassuring that I am not alone in my sense of humour. *thinks for second* Unless you're laughing at me.... not with me.... Anyway, as I seem to be suffering writers block (think the writing equivalent of pee shyness, you know what I'm talking about), I'm going to pretend you're not there. I am not sure what the blogging equivalent of sticking my fingers in my ears and going laa laa laaa is - but I'm currently doing that.

The flat, is a mess. I mean really, its a total shithole. And did I do any tidying tonight. Did I bugger. Instead I have talked to the weird people who live inside my computer for approximately 3 hours. I haven't even gotten around to watching last night's episode of The Apprentice on iplayer. Although I know who got the finger of god pointed at them - the weirdy one with the beard. Who has decided, in spectacular fit of self-delusion, that suralun fired him because he was jealous of said beard. What a load of bollocks. Perhaps you were fired for being a shite, whiny, pathetic little person. Although I am more amused by the fact that some eejit (possibly also, at this very moment being taken into a boardroom somewhere in White City) put a link on the BBC Apprentice website, yesterday MORNING, showing who got fired. Yes, well done, reveal the part of the programme that they spend the whole 59 minutes building up to, about 9 hours too early.

In fact, its been a bit of a week for funny fuck ups and silly news. The main contender for prize pillock of the week has to be the Met Chief who accidently revealed to an entire SQUADRON of hacks + paps the contents for some sort of anti-terrorism secret mission - by holding it up in front of him as he exited his car yesterday. Well done you sir. Its been a month of embarrasing mishaps for the Met as a whole - not only do they fail to catch mass rapists, but it seems, they can't keep secrets. In fact, I seem to recall they have also lost several key discs with prisoner information on them. Why they even bother showing up to work I don't know. Perhaps its some sort of work bingo - 1pt for turning up to work drunk, 5 pts for mislaying evidence and 10pts for revealing everything about your case to the general public?

In other silly news, apparently PMT causes women to go shopping.....

Yes, really, shopping. er hello, like women need a REASON? A man surely came up with this logic. A man whose wife has nicked his credit card and run amok in Selfridges possibly - and can't really understand why she had nothing to wear, so blamed it on that old fail-safe reason, her female hormones. Why not put us all in an asylum and treat us with giant dildos for hysteria like the Victorians did.....

And finally, oral sex gives you throat cancer. Now if thats not a good reason to get out of it, I don't know what is. (Am sure you are sympathising with SB at this point - I'm not that much of a bitch really - birthdays, anniversaries + Xmas) I imagine a female doctor came up with that one. I wonder if it covers *all* oral sex. Its not like women need deep throating. You know, I really need to stop this one here.

So I'll leave you to it. Blogging may be intermittent over the Easter break. But think of me lying down, struggling to cram in one more mini egg and unable to decide what to watch on the sky+. It's a tough job but someone's got to do it - and I'm the woman for the job. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building

8 Apr 2009

Hot Topics

Wow, still with the writer's block. What is wrong with me tonight? Perhaps I've used up my quota of words for the day. Isn't there some stupid statistic about women using several thousand more words per day than men? Perhaps I've gone over my allocation and i'm not allowed to talk anymore. Which would make for a crappy blog I feel.

I've run out of interesting things to debate and discuss tonight. Although I am intrigued by the concept of Eminem's new video in which he takes the piss out of Amy *High Barnet* winehouse and Blake Double-barrelledposhboy. In fact the lyrics revolve around Amy allegedly wanting to help Blake out of jail by smuggling a file in a cake into the prison. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Eminem in prison? For drugs? And other song-writing material wrongdoings? Pot kettle black. Eminem is getting a little tiresome now. Its all bit clever clever. Sometimes I think he's some terrible form of viral marketing for a stage school and he's actually some WASPy friend of Dorothy living in a duplex in Provincetown. All his cool rapper hip hop friends were paid for by his mummy. Although why anyone would want to lie and say they grew up in a trailer park is beyond me, so it is possible I am wrong.

It seems that most of London is gearing up for the mass easter exodus. Although SB and I are being very daring and - rather than cram ourselves on a first great western train to cardiff tomorrow night (and I do so love standing up for 200 miles) - leaving any travelling to the rather more civilised hour of lunchtime on Friday. Ostensibly this is so that I can force myself to go to the gym on friday morning befor the annual Easter egg binge fest that traditionally overcomes me this weekend. And creme eggs make my teeth hurt but that doesn't stop me guzzling them like chocolate armageddon is on its way and taking no prisoners. However friday morning is more likely to involve waking up in a simillar fashion to the famous scene in FW&AF - whereby the alarm clock is switched off, only for me to wake up 2 hours later with only the word *fuck* in my vocabulary. Packing is therefore not only hasty, but random - with no semblance of any kind of wardrobe or matching outfits. Additionally we have decided to put our wedding invites together in Wales, so I'm fairly sure just as we reach the outskirts of Bristol, i'll realise I've left the address list at home. Such are my organisational skills. But all will be saved by the possibility of a civilised drink in Cardiff followed by 12 hours of uninterrupted sleep on Friday night. Blissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

And that's where I'll leave you tonight. Sorry it's been a short one, after yesterday's events, i'm not feeling massively talkative and it's bloody late for me to be writing this one - and on a school night too. Live long + prosper. Thank you and good night

Stupidgirl has left the building

7 Apr 2009

Jack Daniels was my funeral date

Well, I don't think today is going to be my funniest blog entry. Sorry. Been to L's funeral today in darkest North London. I thought I was going to have to take my passport + have a vaccination to get there (did I make a funny?). So now, full of pound cake + sweet sherry (bollocks to the diet) here are my ramblings on today's events.

I would say that there was a probably only one funny point about today. So I'll put it in now. Although really, if I was a sitcom writer, I should put the good stuff at the end - to keep you reading. Although perhaps you might do me the favour of reading all of this entry - just in tribute to my aunt. So, back to the funny. Today, for the first + only time, I attended a funeral with a liter bottle of Jack Daniels in my handbag. Whenever I opened my bag up, there was the bottle reminding me that, if I so wished, I could be a very discreet and well-dressed lush. The reason for the hard liquor was that it was a present - for my cousin. And it did make her smile. Which is a good thing given it was her mother's funeral. Okay, funny over, back to the half-assed teary philosophising.

The last time I saw L, was in the hospital on Saturday. L was not well. It's weird going into a room when you know that when you come out, you might not see them again. But I think it's a priviledge to be there for the last part of someone's life. Its as powerful as seeing a birth. The room is at the top of the hospital - and seeing out of the window, everyone else scurrying around like ants - it was such a poignant metaphor for, well, life really. We hurry around, scooping up things to feed and nurture ourselves - Big Macs and iPods, coffee and colouring pens - and really it means jack shit. You can't take it with you. It's all over in the blink of an eye. And the only thing you can do is enjoy the ride.

L was a substitute grandmother to me, when R was in Israel and LA. She used to come and stay for the weekend - and she'd always bring two bags. A small one, containing the essentials - change of clothes + toiletries. And a larger one, from which she would unpack food in a simillar manner to Mary Poppins pulling a lamp out of her carpet bag. Humus, schmaltz herring, chollah, pickled gerkins, apples from her apple tree, honey cake, carrot cake, cheese cake. In fact I associate her with food. I remember coming downstairs on a sunday morning to the smell of matzo-meal fritters and cinnamon. She taught me how to make apple pie. In fact L makes the best apple pie I have ever had. Possibly the best apple pie anyone's ever had. Fact. L is probably one of the bluntest people I have ever met, but also one of the kindest. She always saw the funny side of everything - but wasn't afraid to call a spade a spade. She has real balls. Which is why it was strange to see her lying a hospital bed, angry because she's unable to get up unaided and, quite rightly, angry because her independence has been taken away.

I'm not going to say what was wrong with her - it's irrelevant to be honest. And the whole experience feels like deja vu for me. Because I went through the exact same thing with R. But that was a million times worse for me - as she was my own grandmother. The last things R said to me were *I love you* and *your scarf is lovely*. Along with *your hair looks terrible* (at which point she wrote me a BLANK cheque to go and get my hair done - this is what happens when you look like someone's twin when they were young) and also *please rehang the curtains in my hospital cubicle* (yes really.....she was that kind of woman). R was also the kind of woman that sunbathed topless well into her late 60's. Good for her. It would seem exihbitionism runs in the family.

Anyway the service was lovely today, so I hope you won't mind but I just want to post the poem that was read out. As it's beautiful. And I read it at my grandmother's funeral also:

Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other
That we are still
Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way you always used
Put no difference into your tone
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes we always enjoyed together
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was
Let it be spoken without effort
Without the ghost of a shadow in it
Life means all that it ever meant
It is the same as it ever was
There is absolute unbroken continuity
What is death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind
Because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you for an interval
Somewhere very near
Just around the corner
All is well.Nothing is past; nothing is lost
One brief moment and all will be as it was before
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

So, that's really it for today. Be good to each other, all of you. Life is short. Eat desert first. And most importantly illegitimi non carborundum.

Normal SG service will resume tomorrow. Thank you and goodnight.

Stupidgirl has left the building.

6 Apr 2009

Generationwhynot Omnibus Edition

*****parental guidance required - this thread contains excessive bad language******

So, I have been very very lax in actually writing on this blog. It seems that the inspiration fairies abandoned me for 5 days - clearly they had better things to do - perhaps encouraging Lady Gaga to wear better clothes and not make any more music??? One can only hope. I have been suspecting she is a man for some time now too..... any more takers?

It would appear my blog has actually got some people reading it. How alarming, I really didn't intend for this to happen - well aside from telling everyone I know I am writing a blog.... I am feeling slightly more pressured to use the correct grammar/spelling/punctuation. And when I start sentences with *and* I can practically hear my english teacher screaming in agony. But whats the point in rules if you can't break them. It's weird writing to an audience. I hope you don't all think I'm completely mad. In fact I'd better get on with the actual blog before you all run away.

Tonights blog entry is actually sunday's entry. As I failed to do a list last night, I am doing a list tonight. And tonight's list is......(drum roll please).....*Things That Have Been In Stupidgirl's Head for the Last 5 Days*. I'm not good at making this snappy am i?

1) The sheer pointlessness of several women in the media. Lady Gaga (badly dressed slut-man), Paris Hilton (god will she just EVER go away, you can't buy a best friend + expect loyalty. Oh can she please work out how to apply lip liner ON her lip line, not outside - how hard can it be) Jacqui Smith (badly dressed leech with a husband feeding his tacky sex habit via tax payers money). And would Cheryl Cole f*ck off about not liking her body. Could she be anymore passive-aggressively needy?

2) Death. My aunt died yesterday. Cancer is a bastard. But, more importantly, I would like to kill the stupid twunt who works in a some cruddy pub near UCH. I nearly lamped her on saturday when I was taking my cousin (my aunt is her mum) for a much needed jack daniels break during hospital visiting. We sat at a table *near* a reserved sign only to have this complete blonde c*nt in a miniscule pink dress ask us to *fuck off* and *get out - its reserved*. Walked past the stupid biatch 30 mins later to see her sitting at the massive table with just one friend. Errrrrr can anyone spell loser?

3) Biscuits. And why I keep eating so many of them. It's like, I know I've got to wear my wedding dress in 3 months AND its a tight ivory number, but my brain is seriously in denial about this. Today for example I have eaten: 1 x cherry jam sarnie, 1 x bowl of cornflakes with a *generous* spoonful of sugar, 6 x almondy type biscuits, 1 x slim a soup (yes don't fall for this, the reason it's got less calories is because there's LESS IN IT...), 1 x pret tuna salad, 6 x chocolate biscuits and......1 x tesco fruit salad. Willpower is a dirty word to me.

4) Wedding dresses. Sorry, but I am getting married in 3 months, I am going to talk about the wedding and no, I have no sense of humour when it comes to the wedding. So just don't bother. I tried on my dress again this weekend after having a *serious* fit of paranoia that I'd gotten too fat for it. But even with all the biscuit-related sabotage it fitted. Which is good. And my shoes go too. And I feel all Veronica Lake-esque in it. So all round good. I just have to STAY AWAY from the biscuits. Why this is so hard I don't know.

5) Naked pictures. Yes, the boudoir pics are in. And they are surprisingly good. Not surprising given the talent of the photographer, but more that she has managed to disguise the fact i am a total munter. And the nipple tassles are good. I think they are my favourite accessory this year, aside from my wedding shoes. *hmmmmmm could combine the two at some point.....* (sorry was that a TMI) In fact is it possible to overshare when people know you've had boudoir shots taken? And some of the readers of this very blog have seen said pics. My head is expanding with the compliments I've had. I only hope SB likes them. He did have a hissy fit when I went to pole dancing lessons (btw an elephant would have had more grace +elegance twirling around a pole than I did)

6) Pointless Facebook Applications That Your Friends Send You. Currently I have 5 applications pending approval. Friends who send me these (and you know who you are) - are you mad? Do you really think that I can spare time from Hitching about nipple tassles + table crystals to install a *lil green patch* or have some clauclau love (wtf), well really, do you? And who decided that throwing (virtual) livestock at people was a good way to express your feelings? And I've been virtually poked more by more people than I've been poked by in real life (sorry, got to watch out for these TMI's) Although FB does run my life nowadays (does anyone else use that expression anymore -except little old ladies?). Every status update is soooooo carefully worded, all info carefully chosen. And when people comment and *like* my status I get way too over-excited. Its all a big popularity contest. I can't allow myself to Twitter. I might never leave the house/get any work done/see my friends IRL/get married/do any cleaning ever again. Actually that last one's not so bad.

Well I know I am supposed to have 10 things on my list. But I've run out of energy this evening. It's so exhausting having people tell you how hot you are in your boudoir photos. I feel like I must have a little lie down and watch 90210 on E4+1. But just quickly, other things on my mind are - purchasing of JD for my cousin tomorrow, what to wear to the funeral (we don't wear black), has my bottom got bigger since eating all the biscuits, will people keep reading the blog, will I ever manage to unblock the kitchen sink (ideas on a postcard) and, finally, will I ever rid myself of the ambition to be able to do the splits?
On that high class note, I shall leave you. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building.

1 Apr 2009

The 10:32om News from Stupid-Land

Well I had completely planned my blog tonight. I had this great idea of what to write about today, at around lunchtime.

Except I can't remember it now and bloody forgot to write it down. The riots on the tellybox were too distracting and the sight of the great unwashed converging on Bishopsgate was clearly far too exciting for my little brain to handle.

So instead of whatever it is I planned to write today, tonight's blog is a newsbeat from Stupidland. As the title suggests, clearly.

Main News Today
Riots in Londontown. As suspected the four horsemen of the apocalypse did appear and attempted to bring the banking world to its knees (like it can't do that by itself). In anycase aside from the armoured vehicles, balaclavas, 6 stolen police uniforms and other assorted home-made weapons, the smell of 4000 people's worth of unwashed hair would be enough to persuade any hardened riot police to give up. Why can't protesters dress nicely and wash. And shave. I am sure that Galliano or Jean Paul Gaultier could do a decent line of couture protest costumes. I can see them now. Artfully ripped, camoflage material cut in an imacculate 3 piece suit, complete with detachable cashmere balaclava. Steel toe capped leather dress shoes + poison dart umbrella accessories available. Anyway I am sure the riots were massively successful and the banks are instantly going to be much more profitable, not pay people silly sums + NEVER take ridiculously large pensions (or take coke or shag hookers).

Secondary News
Yes Obama is here - and not in Streatham as I thought last night, given the maybank I spotted (and the horrendous traffic). After meeting with the rather less suave Gordon and Sarah he then has a dinner of great british talent inflicted on him.

It was lovely and sunny out today. Sunny enough for me to eat my low-calorie chicken salad purchased for lunch, outside whilst I read my Tess Gerritsen. However it was NOT warm enough for the flurry of flip flops, espadrilles, shorts, vests and other sundry summer clothing that I saw on the British public today. Although god knows what was up with the weirdo on the tube this morning wearing sunnies. It's underground - there is no sun. Perhaps he was a vampire.

Thats it for tonight, I'll be back the same time tomorrow. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building

31 Mar 2009

A Life In The Day of Stupidgirl

Everyday I try to think of a topic for my blog so that I have something to write about when I get home. But today I am stumped. Even though there is tons going on in the news - G20 summit/trustafarians rioting/Obama visiting london/me having jam sarnies for dinner - none of these are particularly inspiring. I do have a very special kind of lethargy when it comes to public interest stories and high brow news. I know the news is out there, I'd just rather not get involved. Perhaps I'm a lib dem politician?

Anyway I thought I'd rip off the Sunday Time Magazine column, and give you A Life In the Day Of.... Stupidgirl. Which will most likely be tedious, self-obsessed but definitely fat free.

6am Most mornings SB's sodding crackberry alarm goes off every 10mins from 6am, waking not only him, but scaring the living shit out of me and causing me to wake up at least an hour before I need to drag my lazy ass out of bed. I doze on and off repeatedly until around 7am when I crawl into the bathroom and perform the neccessary ablutions. Although I've been a fully blown slave to the wage for several years now, I still can't get used to the ridiculous hours. Who decided a working day should begin at 9am? Someone who doesn't get up early that's who.

9am After spending approx 45mins travelling underground crammed into a strange man's armpit and running through various tube stations in 4 inch heels, I arrive at work. I have had various working hours in my *career* so far, but none of them compare to when I went to school in the City and got up everyday at 6:30 am AS A TEENAGER. Surely this constituted child abuse. In fact having to travel on 4 different tube lines twice a day should have been made illegal and given me higher grades in my A-levels purely for the torture of travelling to and from school.

I digress. Once at work, I settle down to my working day yadda yadda yadda. Again, it seems unwise to discuss work on a massively public forum LIKE THE INTERNET WHERE ANYONE CAN READ IT. I have put this in caps for the foolish people who do write about their jobs on their blog.

Midday This is where frantic wedding planning commences. For 45mins I cram the neccessary faffing and emailing and phone calling for one of the biggest days of my life into this short amount of time. More crucially lunchtime also involves a heavy amount of maths: X + X for lunch = few enough calories to allow me to fit into my wedding dress but, enough calories to fill me up until dinner and avoid the 4pm chocolate run. Which doesn't help the wedding diet AT ALL. Today's wedding tasks were informing the hotel of the menu we wish to *taste* on our next visit up there. I know this is tediously boring for any readers, but hey its my blog. In fact in addition to the tedium, I have also completed my info sheets which involved lots of buggering around with the print settings on Word Vista (which is surprisingly awkward to use) but very satisfying when all done.

6pm Home time, freedom. GYM TIME. Its like out of the frying pan into the fire. After a hard day at work, all i want to do is come home and mutate into a giant human slug. Flannel pjs, plate of pasta, tellybox and Facebook. BUT NO. The gym fairy demands that I go to the gym. And when I argue, she plants a picture of my FAT ASS covered in skin tight ivory satin into my head. Its very effective motivation. The highlight of my trip to the gym is trying to see how much cheesy music I can cram into my time on the cross torturer. Madonna is a current favourite but I really have to try hard not to sing along - although given where I live, I am one of the more normal crazy people. Apart from the usual reasons why the gym is crap, for some reason my gym appears to also be a pick up joint. Particularly the mats area. I know, bendy women + minimal lycra+ tiny bit of sweat is sexy but...... not while I am trying to work out. It's annoying. (I may have a slight touch of jealousy here) And lots of laughing prevents me from hearing my Madonna song correctly on my ipod and then I lose my place mouthing along with her words. Grrrrrr.

8pm Finally, finally relaxation. Except this is where the guilt hits. The flat normally looks like a clothes + tesco bomb has hit it. And I really should clear up. And make dinner for SB as he works such inhumane hours and can go MONTHS without seeing daylight during the week. But I don't. I come here and slave away over this blog (aka chat on Facebook for 2 hours and intermittently put some words on here). Finally when I realise I have rambled on long enough I go to bed.

11pm Bed. Book. Duvet. Until SB strolls in around midnight. And then I go to sleep. Before the whole thing starts again. Its like groundhog day. Without Bill Murray. Which makes my day about a billion times better. I hate that movie.

Anyway I hope that little blog post has been massively informative for you and helped you all to be better people. Thank you and goodnight

Stupidgirl has left the building

30 Mar 2009

Love Love Love....(warning possibly slushy post)

Love, love love...as the beatles put it. All You Need Is Love.

Over the last few months, I've been thinking about this love-stuff quite a lot (please no juvenile jokes about love-stuff , NOT what I meant). Obviously getting engaged makes you think about it. As in, do I love this person enough to spend the rest of my life with them and not kill them over their many irritating habits (toilet seats being left up, leaving piles of paper everywhere, hating cheesy 80's music, being obsessed with odd over-sexed Sci-Fi tv shows.....) And of course I am sure SB is loving all my weird little habits too (picking my feet until they bleed, singing appallingly badly, uncontrollable messiness...)

And also, friend-type love. The kind of friends that will allow you to drag them up on bar tables to dance to Guns n Roses, who invite you to random birthday parties where you create your own version of silent disco in a posh wine bar (try it, all you need is an ipod and some dolly parton...) and the kind that when the shit hits the fan, help you dispose of the bodies + provide you with an alibi (and some decent tequila). Cause although I've not been on a killing spree over the last 6 months, there's certainly been a little shit hitting the fan. And my mates have been there. Its certainly when you know who your friends are for sure. And recently my friends have been going through some shit of their own. So I hope I can provide the alibis for them - and that I've been good enough so far.

I'm getting slightly off tangent here because what've been on my mind recently is other people's attitudes to love and how they show it. Because after reading something in my book today, it's occurred to me that one person's act of love can be an act of complete cruelty to another. It depends on your perspective.

Here is the example. A wealthy upper class woman gives birth to a baby girl in the 1930's who has a moderate disability. One that is very much accepted now, but even about 30-40 years ago was seen as shameful and embarrassing. The child is immediately put in a home by the parents and brought up there. The parents have very much differing views on whether they were right to hide their daughter away. The father feels horrendous guilt and suffers very much. The mother meanwhile is completely happy with her decision. As a modern reader I felt very much on the side of the father and sorry that someone should feel the need to hide their child away.

You later discover that the mother (who married into a rich blue-blood family) has an impoverished past and was teased mercilessly at school for her foreign accent and attitudes. As a result she completely reinvents herself - and achieves the popularity + success she so desired. Her logic for putting the child in the home - and hiding her away - was to prevent the child from suffering cruelty at the hands of others, as she did, for being *different*. For the mother, this act was an act of love. For the father it was an act of cruelty. Who is right?

The book just crystalised for me how we all love, and show love in many different ways. And how we have different capacities for love. So often the problems in relationships happen when we make assumptions about what someone would like, or what is best for someone, without actually consulting them. Even when I think I'm being straight with SB, and have thought about why he might or might not like something, he still can mistake my assumptions for thoughtlessness.

So perhaps its best to remember that you can't always know someone's motivations for doing something - and give them the benefit of the doubt. No matter what ties you to someone, blood, love, or friendship, you can never truly know them. The best way to act is to give without expecting back, and then you can never end up disappointed. I guess that's all for tonight, before I turn into a walking cliche. Peace out. Thank you and good night

Stupidgirl has left the building

29 Mar 2009

Sunday - List Day

I love lists - specificially top 10 lists of things. And as a teenager, I spent a lot of time categorising my favourite books, films, colours, songs, TV shows, bands, albums, food, feelings - in fact pretty much everything. I feel that this is very much a lost art, one that disappears when you hit adulthood and realise that actually, no-one really cares what your top 10 songs from 1995 are because frankly its all bit OCD and overly nostalgic.

However there is one other person who understands the value of a rankings list. And that is Nick Hornby. His book, High Fidelity, is like nirvana for listing-making musos. The main plot of the book is essentially boy meets hot girl, boy dates hot girl, hot girl falls in love with him, boy acts like total fuckwit, girl dumps boy and starts shagging overweight minger, boy looks back at all previous girlfriends to try and figure out a way to fix things with hot girl. But that's all beside the point because, Rob, the fuckwit music-head in the book, is obsessed with lists:

"Do you know your desert-island, all-tine, top-five most memorable split ups?"
"My Dad's top five films..."
"All time top-five favourite episodes of Cheers?"

I think you get it. And I love this idea of categorising all your favourite things. Because you never know when it might come in handy. Perhaps you might get kidnapped, and in some sort of weird Stockholm syndrome way, start discussing (for example) favourite 80's movie stars. And perchance, you both agree that in fact, Emilio Estevez is good - but not that good - you magically win over your kidnapper through your mutual love of categorising movie stars and he/she frees you from your torturous captivity as a result. Unfortunately this is the only example that springs to mind as to how list making could be useful.

And so, in Nick Hornby's honour, I have decided that Sunday nights, on the blog, are to be list nights. And every week I will provide you, my avid readers (of which currently there is only 1 anyway) with a list of my top 10 for that week. It could be top 10 anything. Top 10 men, top 10 horror movies, top 10 fantasy novels, top 10 news headlines. Whatever. So you now have Nick Hornby to thank for the latest bizarre idea to hit this blog. And in a shameless display of name dropping, I did, in a previous life meet the lovely Mr Hornby. And he signed a copy of all his books for me - during which I shook with nerves and stammered out "High Fidelity is... like...my favourite book ever". On a list of ways to impress great authors, sounding like a complete valley girl is not one of them.

So, to tonight's list. I thought I'd start with something relatively easy. My favourite songs. Which I would like to point out, could have many, many sub genres. In fact I could have a list of top 10 sub genres. But I digress.

Top songs (and please, I have terrible taste in music, so just don't bother)

1) Sweet Child of Mine. If you don't know who this song is by, I don't really know why you're bothering to read this blog quite frankly

2) Where the Streets have no name - U2

3) Am I getting through - Sheryl Crow

4) Like a virgin - madonna

5) Stupidgirl - garbage

6) Come As You Are - Nirvana

7) Sympathy for the Devil - Rolling Stones

8) Californication - again, reading this blog, you should know who this is by. In fact all of these songs really. They're not exactly obscure. I'm not known for my total supercoolness with regard to music tastes

9) Heaven Is A PLace on Earth - Belinda Carlisle

10) All Is Full of Love - Bjork

That wasn't in any particular order - and top 10 songs is terribly mood reliant. But that gives you a good overview of my music tastes - MOR, Hard Rock, Grunge with a sprinkling of cheese and craziness. I am sure there are many interesting reasons why I have picked these songs but to be quite honest they are just great songs and make me feel ALIVE. In fact if I could, I'd be walking down the aisle to Sweet Child.

Its funny. Music is so personal. What one person loves, for another it can cause their eardrums to bleed. I know my list is fairly boring but I bet everyone I know would like at least one song on there. So I'd rather please the masses generally than a few people specifically. *thinks to self - where is this trite crap coming from??* So as you can see, i've been writing late at night again and it's not produced the greatest post yet. But I hope you like the lists theme for sundays. I do.
Thank you and good night

Stupidgirl has left the building

Late Nite Writing Club

So again to my 6th post. Does this writing malarkey get any easier? Will I ever get ideas for blog posts ever again? Will I ever stop posting in questions? Perhaps I should just write when I am not completely exhausted. Although I have just had a birthday cupcake with edible holographic sprinkles on which should give me the neccessary sugar boost to get some thoughts down on the blog tonight.

Well it's been nearly a week of sharing my inner-most thoughts online. So far I know for sure only one person (outside of myself) reads this. And I am hoping she thinks its okay. When I started planning my blog at the beginning of the week I had tons of ideas for blog entries. But they all seem to have evaporated. I need a muse I think. Kind of Theda Bara crossed with .... Emily Dickinson? That would be an interesting voice to write in. Witty, depressive 19th Century virgin crossed with 20th century silent movie sex-goddess. Hmmmm perhaps a sample sentence would be:

"Should I -
Or should I not -
when the gin bottle, the half empty
gin bottle - is near by
make gimlets and laze about -
in -
chiffon baby doll nighties?"

Apologies for the terrible copying of ED's poetry style layouts. But you get the gist. You can't philosphise (sp?) over the meaning of life while getting slowly inebriated in one's lingerie. Can you? I do talk an awful lot about gin + lingerie I notice, which is odd because I don't like Gin. But I do love lingerie.

In fact I caused a friend to have a rush of jealousy today because I have a copy of the Agent Provocateur bridal lingerie catalogue. And she doesn't. Hah! And as one would expect (can't get rid of this Theda Bara + Emily Dickinson voice now), the lingerie is to die for. In fact given the prices, I would actually have to sell a kidney to afford some of it. But yes lingerie in general is wonderful. Brassieres, stockings, hold ups, suspender belts, french knickers, normal knickers, baby dolls, corsets, waspies..... the list is endless. Although sadly I have very rarely had the opportunity to wear lingerie like this. Until last weekend....

Last weekend I realised a life-long ambition and had a nude/pin-up girl photo shoot done - ostensibly for SB, but really for me, to celebrate my body. Why not? Can i just point out at this point that SB doesn't know anything about it - so please don't tell him....Packing a suitcase full of chiffony knickers + high heels to take away with me was an odd sensation, kind of naughty but nice. It was a simillar to the time, when in one of my many shopping trips in preparation for the shoot I purchased simply a pair of peach chiffon knickers and some dark red patent sandals from Primark. I felt like a total floozy (in a good way) going home with just shoes + knickers.

I have also got some revelations about nipple tassles at this point.

1) They bloody kill when you take them off. I had to check I hadn't left any nipple inside the tassle. It hurt THAT MUCH.
2) However, do not let this deter you from wearing them. They are weirdly flattering to the decolletage area. I felt very *perky*
3) Unless you are very practised at twirling said tassles, do not attempt this for the first time in front of an audience. Unless you want to be laughed at.

Anyway the shoot went very well. I may do a proper report back once I have seen the pictures. And possibly a nice big feminist rant about how we are all beautiful, should love our bodies and celebrate our individuality yadda yadda yadda. So you have that to look forward to. I can see the next post title now - Stupidgirl Stripped Bare. Although obviously I am not going to post a link to the pictures on here. You'll have to use your imaginations. And on that note, until next time mes amigos. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building.

27 Mar 2009

Thank Crunchie It's Friday

Its been a bit of a week - nudity, pin ups, nipple tassles, 12 hour days, depression, mass catering, possible riots, and bad men - to name a few.

But its bloody friday. Thank god. And I actually have a surprisingly nice weekend planned. Mainly wedding stuff. So if you hate weddings, I would give up reading now before I go totally 'Zilla on here Tomorrow the plan is get up, go to gym (bridal diet doncha know), then into town to pick up our wedding rings and pick out stuff on our gift list. And then I've a party in the evening. Except how it'll probably go is - we'll probably sleep in, miss the gym (guilt guilt), run late as we head into town (throw in a row about which of us contributed to the running late) and then not make up until we pick up the rings. We will then have a max of about 1 hrs peace and no rowing until we start picking out gift list stuff.

To be honest I don't really know where to start with the whole gift list thing. It seems f*cking cheeky to be all kind of "please come to our wedding, which is miles from where you live, requires an overnight stay (and a new outfit if you're a girl), it's a cash bar...oh and, please buy us a present". But the rationale behind it is to prevent aged relatives buying us complete tat (crystal decanter anyone? stupid ceramic figures?) and means we get some new plates instead. Which are always handy seeing as how many I've broken throwing them at StupidBoy......

Back on track, as I was saying, I've a party to go to - its a 30th of a friend I used to work with. Although we've lost touch a little since I left, I am having a happy reminisce about some of our bizarre nights out. In fact our first night out together involved a celebrity lesbian + her lesbian football team and Bonnie Tyler kareoke. And since then we've been to a dodgy underground club in the seedier part of west hampstead, a fairy tale themed charity fancy dress party and sunbathed for so long in the park one afternoon that I got sunglasses shaped sunburn on my face. Which WAS NOT a good look. And caused lots of hysterical laughing and/or crying. So yes, party tomorrow. Which boosts my social life no end as other than that i have no plans for the next few weeks really.

This blog entry has really not been so hot tonight really has it? My social life + plans for the weekend are hardly thrilling. My ideal weekend would have been something like: Finish work at 5 (which I did today actually) and be collected by chauffeur driven limo and whisked off to the airport, where SB would be waiting for me with tickets (first class) to Rome for the weekend. We would arrive home refreshed, full of pasta (magically fat free of course) and wine, pleasantly re-cultured, and have a lovely relaxing sunday evening in the flat. Which the spring cleaning fairies would have cleaned + tidied and restocked full of yummy food.

But instead I will be getting jet lag coming back from the gym on sunday morning as the sodding clocks go forward. Which evil person decided that we should LOSE an hour's sleep. Its just ungodly. And I really could do with the extra hour's sleep this weekend. As you can tell by the complete drivel that is making up this post. In fact you know what, I'm going to stop here. SB is home, the spag bol needs to be heated up, and I don't think I'm going to get any wittier or more intelligent this evening. In fact, I'll probably just go further downhill. So best to know when to stop. (not something I often know) So thank you and goodnight.

Stupidgirl has left the building

26 Mar 2009


There are many kinds of thieves. The kind that steal your bag in a club. The kind that break in to your house and steal your stuff. Pickpockets, burglars, anyway you want em, thieves. Thick as thieves. And there are comedy thieves too - the vodka thieves that steal your inhibitions. The tequila thieves that steal your memory of the night before - leaving you helpless to friends pointing and laughing and starting sentences with *Do you remember doing X....last night?* The thieves that steal the good hair days, the skinny days, the bus/tube/train arriving on time days, the not-saying-stupid-things thieves.

And then there are the kind of thieves that steal your life, insidiously, piece-by-piece, through a single action. And it can take forever to get it back. The thief that stole part of my life is now in prison. And he stole pieces of many other women's lives too. Pieces that they are working hard to get back and put back together.

I was sexually assaulted. By a serial offender + rapist. The assault happened around 18months ago. But he's only just been found guilty - of over 24 attacks and 2 rapes. And they had almost 61 cases in total they could have brought against him. It's just terrifying to know that there are men like this out there. And although it is rare to be attacked, the number of people that confided in me with their own experiences after my attack was shocking.

When are some men going to realise that violence against women, and terrorising and threatening them is just not acceptable goddammit. It's just ridiculous. And the number of convictions is pathetic compared to the number of assaults. No wonder women are afraid to come forward. Its terrifying enough being attacked, without having to subject yourself to the humiliation of being intimately examined in an area you'd like to forget existed. To be treated like some kind of strange exhibit. Having to describe your every movement. The humiliation of remembering how much you drank or didn't drink, what you were wearing, where you went. And to be interviewed almost aggressively. Yes the police are just doing their job. But it would be good to have some empathy, to try to understand what someone might be feeling.

And then after the police side of things, after the statement and the photofit and the promises to call and let you know how the case is progressing. Then nothing.

And you are left to continue with a partly broken bit of life. The feeling the morning after when you first wake up - and you know something isn't quite right - and then you remember. The feeling of wanting to hide from the world. Of never wanting to wear anything that shows more than your ankles and wrists ever again. Of being unable to be alone in a room/bus/train carriage/shop with a man you don't know. Of being unable to look the world in the eye. Of panic attacks and terror. Of scuttling into your flat when you come home late. Of constantly looking over your shoulder. Of spending an evening out with your friends - supposedly relaxing - but instead fretting about how to get home. And having a constant tumult of emotions inside you. Anger, sorrow, fear. And shame. Shame over how much I drank. Shame over wearing basically lingerie as a top. Shame for putting myself out there.

And then anger. Because I didn't ask for this to happen to me. No matter what I wear or do or say or act or drink or feel I didn't deserve to be attacked. No-one deserves to be attacked.

But although that man tried to steal my confidence and my guts and a piece of my life, i'm clawing that piece back. And his conviction says that I didn't imagine the attack. That I didn't make it up or hallucinate it. That it was real and it did happen. And the knowledge that he was wrong and I was right - and the confidence that brings, that's the piece of my life I'm getting back. The ability to look the world in the eye again. It doesn't happen over night but I'm bloody getting there. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building.

25 Mar 2009

TV Junkies

to paraphrase a friend's FB profile..... klass, sugar, bree....
That's my line up for this evening.

If you don't know what I'm talking about you should do. It would seem that the infinite wisdom of the telly programming gods have decided to put anything worth watching on the box, on wednesday night. Hump night. (god bless the aussies, such a fab word - along with sheila and bonza...and yes getting off the point here)

Hump night, in case you don't know, is wednesday night. It's the hump in the middle of the week that leads you into the gentle decline that is friday night and the weekend. It makes wednesday bearable. The knowledge that 2 sleeps and its the weekend. And lets face it, wednesday night is the new thursday night is the new friday night is the new black.

Back to the telly-box. So tonight the majority of women in the country will be watching 10 years younger at 8pm. A programme in which, ironically, the presenter herself has been replaced by a sleb 10 years younger. 10YY is the antithesis of the Gok *get ya wobbly bits out for the girls* school of thought.
10YY says *yes, you look crap and wrinkly and unshaggable but why don't we give you tons of plastic surgery, caps, a blow dry and some polyfilla and ask the general public to guess how old you are* I actually quite liked the blunt, hatchet faced saffa who presented it. Honesty WAS her best policy. And watching a toothless 37 yr old crying after being told a general poll thought she was 65 is pure car crash telly. (hey, I didn't say I was kind). Anyway the blunt one has been replaced by the bland one. Its too tiresome to even have to describe who she is and what she does. So I shan't.

Back to my point (somewhere up there in the ether) new series of The Apprentice starts tonight. Put a bunch of bitchy, arrogant, moody, unemployable wannabes in a get-rich-quick-job-hunt scheme. Instant telly karma. Hogging the 9pm slot on a wednesday night and causing most of the working population to dash home to watch it, The Apprentice is highly addictive. In fact I currently only have ONE friend on FB chat, thus indicating that half the country is watching telly. Either that or I'm a social leper (FB is the only way to judge your popularity clearly)

Following this (true TV marathon here - 3 hours worth) is Desperate Housewives. Which I love. And have aspired to be all of the characters at some point. My current favourite is Bree. Immaculate, home cooking, terrifying, reformed alcoholic, apron wearing, redhead bree. I love her. I want to be her. My favourite scene is the one in the 2nd series where she learns to shoot. Wearing an immaculate twin set and skirt. Now thats a woman not to mess with. Tonight's episode apparently features the ever lovely Gabi trying to get back into shape for the no-longer-blind Carlos. It's so easy in TV land, ya just take the fat suit off. Easy.

Anyway I'd better go and warm up for the TV marathon - a light bit of Hollyoaks viewing to get me started perhaps. So I'll leave you here. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building.

24 Mar 2009

The Black Dog

Well this is a cheery second post. The black dog. The death of Nicholas Hughes got me thinking about this one. In case you don't know, Nicholas Hughes is the son of Sylvia Plath + Ted Hughes. It must be genetic - the urge to stick one's head in a gas oven and other legacies to leave your children.

Is depression genetic? That blanket of lethargy that settles over your mind like gray candy floss. Its something that affects everyone differently. I've always thought depression is a luxury. Albeit one I've suffered from and most of my family. And I guilt trip myself by thinking *well you know the starving millions in africa don't have depression*. Sort of the grown up version of *eat your food - there are starving children in Africa* . And I've read all the feminist depression literature as per most pre and post grunge girls. Prozac Nation. The Bell Jar. The Edible Woman. All strange and yet familiar in their own way.

I am not sure this is the greatest topic for my second post. But at least I'm writing. 546 words on the last post. Better than nothing.

Today, also in my head - names for characters. Kind of like naming your children. But without the nuisance of actually having to have another person's input.

Minnaloushe (yes I know this is actually a male name)

I'm on a bit of a silver-screen trip with this one. And clearly these characters wouldn't get far. Probably not much further than the nearest gin bottle with names like these. And they'd be so bored without any men. I'm not much good with male characters it would seem. I would write an entirely female novel. But that's been done.
And besides a book featuring characters named after silver screen stars, with gin and lots of lingerie. That could lead to an entirely different sort of novel. Which would probably sell loads actually. Maybe that's where I'm going wrong. Is that a new genre? Pin up porn?

Well who knows. On that note, I think i'd better go. A post that covers gin, porn, depression and allusions to lesbianism is hard to beat. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building

23 Mar 2009

Alienating your readers and other cool blog tricks.

Well I was going to write this first post in wingdings. But I thought that would make it kind of hard to read. And defeat the point of me doing some actual writing.

So the point was, here is my blog. God knows who's going to want to read it. I'm an ordinary girl with an ordinary life. If I were a colour I'd be black. I have friends. And a fiance. And a flat. I am Jane Austen's dream for liberated women. I can grow in my body hair, and not wear a bra. And I earn my own money but have a joint bank account. Except I shave my body hair. And buy expensive lingerie. Just for me. And the only thing the joint bank account pays for is bills + the mortgage. Which sadly is not a tracker mortgage in this current financial climate.

This blog was for me to practise my writing. I've always wanted to write a book. I never said that I was original and/or special. But so far all I can see is that I like to write in short sentences - contrary to what I learned in my Classics degree. And also that you now pretty much know what I look like without my clothes on. Yes, I have no shame. Why do I get the impression this post is running away from me. Its as if i have no control over my hands and their connection with this keyboard. Have I alienated you yet? If you've gotten this far, perhaps I'm not the crazy one.

Anyway, what to write on a blog if you're no-one special. And if I want to be anonymous how does anyone read it? And give me opinions. And how close to real life should I stick - perhaps I'll refer to all my friends by the first letter of their surname. Mentioning work or jobs or anything like that seems a little foolish. So the question remains, what to write about.

I was hoping that I would post about random things that caught my attention. And eventually I might get a clue as to what I could write a book about. Not a publishable book I might add. I am sure I'm a fairly terrible writer. And the thought of being published is far too terrifying an aim. But after a discussion with a friend (K) in which she revealed she too wants to be a cross between several authors, I decided I wanted my writing style to be the love child of Douglas Coupland and Margaret Atwood. A sort of Edible Generation X Girlfriend in a Coma Tale.

....*i've now been sat here for 5 minutes with no idea how to follow up that last paragraph*....Is it possible to have writers block after a mere 400+ words? I seem to have managed it. It's clearly a talent of mine along with dancing weirdly, obsessive organisation of my books and my addiction to wedding websites.

I guess the last paragraph is quite a neat summation of my first post. I have high ambitions and a laissez-faire approach to achieving them. I'm wedding obsessed and yet still have strong feminist tendencies (is it more or less liberated to stay home with the kids now - or is having the choice the point?). And finally I love books. I think I'll sign off there. Thank you and goodnight.

Stupidgirl has now left the building.

16 Mar 2009


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