Naughty School. Balls.

Fucking hell.

Who gets caught speeding, seriously? Well me for one. Goddammit. I've got to go to naughty school (aka. Some-mother-fucking-speed-school-run-by-the-fuzz) because i need to re-learn how to drive (according to the leaflet).

I really don't know why i'm such a fast driver. But i am and i'm not proud of it. Well, i'm proud of beating stupid boy racers at traffic lights when they look at pretty little me in glasses and imagine that their car is faster than theirs. And i'm proud of knowing which lane is the right one and cutting idiots up that think they can cut in line at the last moment.

I'm thinking that maybe it's not me being a fast driver.. maybe it's me being an angry one. Like earlier, driving to work. Woman cuts into my lane in front of me where i'm minding my own business (and keeping to the speed limit suprisingly). You can tell she's an idiot because a) she's driving a gay ass hairdressers car, b)she's doing her make-up at each traffic light and c) she stops to let EVERY SINGLE CAR that was in her lane into my lane. Then, she speeds through a set of traffic lights with with stupid idiot car friends as it turns red leaving me seething.

I might raise some serious questions at this speed school. Like:

1) can i speed if i'm trying to overtake an old woman that is too senile to drive and is bringing the whole fucking city to a standstill?
2) can i speed off a traffic light if there's a teenage idiot and a car full of his mates next to me that need their egos curbing by beaing beaten by a girl?
3) What if i really need to pee? Can i speed then?

Something tells me i might not be the model student for once...

Random Musing: Home- Literally and Metaphorically

What is it that makes us feel at home in some places and feel out of place in others? Why do we feel a chill when we walk into a house we don't like or instant warmth when when we walk into places that we know and love? The same way we always reach for the clothes that make us feel safe and warm when the shit hits the fan. The same way we reach for the same dvd's to cheer us up or make us laugh. 

This week i made the hard transition from Time Bar back to the Turkey Cafe, just three months after making the journey the other way around. Why did i leave? I still can't put a finger on it now. Sure there are the various reasons that could apply to any bar in our fair city, but the real reason was, was that it didn't feel like home. I missed the constant elbows and pushing and shoving behind our tiny little bar, laughing about customers outfits with the girls while we stood at the end of the bar, Kev and his random open mic nights and our Turkey cocktails; Key Wests, Umbango's and lots of Qualude's. 

I miss the people at Time so much, but the building and me just didn't mix. I just wanted to go home. 

Which, in a Carrie Bradshaw way, 'got me tothinkin' about my sentimentalities. Like the ill-fated 'Bonobo Dress'- the gorgeous dress i got for Bonobo @ Esko and i have only worn once since then. Why? Because every time i look at it i remember how drunk i was and how i made a fool of myself and more importantly, how i could have easily fucked up everything between me and Steve. I'm skirting past the deep scars on my foot that will probably be there for life.. it makes me angry and upset every time i look down at them. 

Anyway,

I'm glad i'm home.

Dilemma Number Eighteen: The Reunion

Later this month everyone i did my post grad with are coming to Leicester to celebrate xmas and have a quasi-reunion. And i have done a million and one things to try and get out of it. Trust is, i really want to go. But i'm scared.

Everyone with even the tiniest hint of self-loathing/insecurity/zero confidence has the same feelings about a reunion. It's going to be an opportunity for the ones that made something for themselves to show and tell everyone how oh-so rich/happy/successful/in love they are and how everyone should bow down to them and worship. I've worked in bars for a long time and i'm used to the stigma we often get (bartenders are stupid, can't get proper jobs, can't deal with 9 to 5's, dropped out of uni, they're lazy blah blah blah) and i can't be bothered to endure the same sympathetic 'oh poor you' looks i expect to get when i say yes, i'm still working at a bar.

Earlier this year i was offered a trial at a news agency in Birmingham. A dream job and the potential to really break into magazines and make a name of myself. And i couldn't face it. A few months ago i was put forward for another dream job working for a fashion PR company in Leicester, and once again i couldn't go. I couldn't make myself answer my consultants calls or emails. I froze up. What the hell is wrong with me? Why is it so easy to write on here, and for magazines as an email contributor and for online companies as a freelancer but i can't face going in person and writing? I'm scared and i don't know why. And what's worrying me is that perfect jobs are passing me by left, right and centre. When/ If i go to this reunion i will have to bite my tongue- i can't tell them i'm too scared for people to see my work (Even thought i can't help asking myself why it's so easy to blog).

Worried. And scared.

"You're not going to do Media Studies! And that's final!"

As i was walking to work through town the other morning minding my own business and psyching myself up for another busy day, i walked past a mother and her teenage daughter stood in the middle of the pavement. The girl looked about seventeen, right in the middle of that awkward stage of trying to fit in with her branded record bag and painted nails yet shy expression. She stood silently as her mother, a plump lady with a stern expression and that type of matching businessy outfit that says 'headmistress', shouted at her at the top of her voice while holding onto her daughter's arm to stop her from walking away.

Why do parents do that?? I remember my step-mum always used to do that to me when we were out shopping and i had done/said something that she was super pissed about. The more crowded a place, the better. I distinctly remember one particular one-sided shouting match in Debenhams once. Nasty. I will never understand how parents think that shouting at their children like that will make them behave better. I wanted to push her into the nearest clothing rail and run off. Either that or do something equally embarassing to her, like push her down an escalator or something. Jeez.

Anyway, back to the mother and daughter in the street. They were talking about A-levels and the girls intended choices for the coming school year. (N.B i'm not a nosy parker by the way... it's not like a just stood there and listened to the whole conversation.. the woman was just shouting so loudly that i could hear her all the way down the road.) The girl had obviously done something wrong and the mother's method of punishment was to take away the one thing that clearly made the girl happy- wanting to study Media. The girl looked so sad when her mum screamed "You're not going to study Media! And that's final!" into her face. The girl looked so innocent and sweet- i couldn't quite understand what on earth she could have done that was so so wrong. Forgotten to make her bed? Didn't clean her teeth that morning? Painted her nails the wrong colour?

I remember choosing my a-level subjects with my mum, stood together in the kitchen with all the course descriptions laid out across the counter. English Language (obviously), Sociology, Media Studies and Art. Bliss. I ended up using three of them when i went to university to study media theory and then journalism. So they were the right choice for me. But what if my parents had said 'no' to my choices? What if my dad thought that i'd be better off doing biology and physics or (gulp)....Maths? What would i have done if they had decided to side against me?

I have thought about that girl a lot since then. Did she end up following her dream? Did her mum stop her from doing media? And was she bothered? I hope she got her wish.

xx

Dilemma Number Seventeen: My name is Rachel and I'm a shopaholic....

Well... at least i know i have a problem. That's good right?

Rackhams, Leicester. A heavenly place of reduced designers goods and sheer hell if you happen to have a problem with spending. Stupidly while flyering today i decided to have a small gander at the lovely dresses and shoes and came across a mint condition, last-pair-in-my-size Kurt Geiger Heidi's... Silver straps, cone heel, cushioned foot... beautiful.

Just to make matters worse they fitted perfectly. But i just couldn't afford them. I really couldn't. So i left the shop feeling actually physically sick and obsessed about them as i walked back up to work. I was so upset, but then i began to grow concerned with the nausea and the blind panic that my pretty shoes were sat there all alone, missing me while getting manhandled by a random shopper who clearly didn't appreciate them. Do i buy too many clothes? Do i obsess about shoes to much? Do i just obsess too much generally?

Take the Kookai dress i bought for my birthday just a few days ago. I first saw it about two weeks ago and regularly went back into the shop to 'check' on it until i got paid and could buy it. True, it's for a reason (i want to look pretty on my birthday) but is there another reason? I watched a TV documentary once about women who buy and buy and covet gorgeous dresses and shoes and handbags because they are objects and pieces that can fill an emotional hole that they couldn't fill any other way. I own about forty pairs of shoes, twenty dresses, and about thirty handbags. Some i love to pieces and some i have never worn and never plan to; I simply had to have them. Am i, trying to fill a hole too? And if so, what hole am i trying to fill? It's a worrying thought.

But back to the shoes. It was either the shoes, or a cold walk home every night till Friday because i wouldn't be able to afford the taxi fares.

.....Hmm.



I'll get the shoes tomorrow.


xx

Daily Dilemma Number Sixteen: Trojan Virus vs the PC-iliterate female

I'm not a fan of the dark, so it's quite common for me to fall asleep halfway through writing something in Word, updating files or chatting on facebook. And while i sleep, my pc usually sits quietly, gently humming through the night until i wake and search through iTunes for the perfect getting up song.

I know some stuff, but next to Joe Average i don't know that much about computers. To be fair, i've had my PC for a two years and we've been close close buddies, and, thank god, i have never been infected with any nasty cyber virus. Here at home with the parentals, where everyone works nine to fives and the house goes deathly quiet before ten, me and my pc have been there for each other- keeping each other company into the wee hours.

Until thursday. That night, I had begun to download some stuff and as usual, fell asleep watching the up and down speeds rise and fall. But as i slept, my PC suddenly got very sick (N.B How girly do i sound??!) and suffered in silence through the night as virus after virus attacked it (I would like to point out at this point that yes, i do have anti-EVERYTHING software... but clearly it *cough*McAfee*cough* didn't feel like working at four in the morning...I'm an Avira girl now).

I felt sick when i saw it in the morning. All my files had been corrupted. Pictures and documents were infected (THANK GOD i always email copies to myself and have photos backed up on Facebook) and the virus was stopping my computer doing anything. Poor thing. It's Sunday and thanks to my friend i'm finally back online and (fingers crossed) virus free.

You have to wonder... what kind of people write these things? What kind of guy (no offence, but i don't know many girls that can write a virus... we have more important things on our minds) sits in his room and thinks "gee, i'm bored as hell. I know! Why don't i create a virus to fuck up someone's computer? Yeah! I'll do that!". With skills like that they could be working for NASA for god's sake... but instead they mess up the lives of pretty little redheads who love nothing more than sitting and writing in the the dark hours, or watching SATC while everyone's in bed.

Bastards.

Happy and skint, or rich and sad?

"...so anyway, i thought i should give you a ring Rachel. I'm really sad to have to tell you this but your loan was refused."
"Oh. right. that's a shame."
"Yeah, i know. I know you really wanted it to go through y'know? I passed it upwards and it came back because there was a little.. er.. difference between your employment and education."
"What do you mean?"
"Well... you're a bartender."
"And?"
"Well.. you have a degree and, the equivalent of a masters is it?"
"post grad diploma."
"Well, with qualifications like that it doesn't seem like a good investment to us to give a loan to you until you get a proper job."
"What do you mean by proper job? it takes ages to get a good portfolio together. especially if i want to work in magazines."
"Well, can you get a proper job while you sort your portfiolio?"
"Like what?"
"Like a clerical job or something? have you tried graduate recruitment?"
"Whats the point of doing that? That won't help me advance in journalism or writing at all. I'm happy doing it in my own time and working night shifts suits me."
"Well, what about just a nice to five job temping?"
"But i'm totally happy where i am, juggling my writing and dancing with my job!"
"But you should be able to fine a job in magazine journalism really easily?"
"It's doesn't work like that. It's not like medicine where you float straight into a job from uni. You need a portfolio that's full to the brim."
"Well, that's fine. But until your employment and education match we can't give you a loan."
"Well, thanks for all your help."

Daily Dilemma Number Fifteen: Girlfiends and Boyfriends

I'm angry today. Mainly because i slept funny and my neck hurts. Plus we ran out of milk and i really wanted porridge this morning. But also because i'm beginning to get more and more pissed off with people assuming i'm seeing a guy just because i'm good friends with them.

For example, i'm rushing to town two weeks ago (late as usual) to meet a mate. I'm on the phone to my ex, Dan who begins to coo when i state that i'm meeting a male friend. "OOOOhhh Ray. Are you going on a date?", "No!" I shout, "He's just a mate."

I don't understand why a girl can't have guy mates without everyone assuming that she is seeing one of them. Saying that implied i have no self-control and in many ways, i'm basically a slag. That's totally not fair.

I've always found it easier to get on with guys. They don't give you bullshit, tell you exactly what you need to hear, and are always there to put a strong arm around you and tell you things will be fine, stop being such a girl and let's go get a beer. I love that. Some of my closest mates ever have been guys, while my best girl mate freindships have been turbulent to say the least.

When i was in halls at uni, i lived in a flat with five other girls. Sure, it was fun a lot of the time, but there was large amount of screaming, shouting, swearing, undercover bitching and annoying cliques forming. You couldn't tell one something because you know it would get back to everyone else and before you knew it, you have five knives sticking out your back. I don't know where i would have been if it were not for my lad mates that let me escape to their flats when things got heated.

Normally, when i'm in a relationship, having guy mates is fine, becuase everyone knows you're in a relationship. But when you happen to be newly single, and part of the horrific rumour mill that is the bar industry, having guys mates can be really frustrating. Without some of them, i'd be a very different person. True, i have way too many clothes, love fashion, music, sex and the city, shopping and other girly things...but you can't exaclty talk to your best mate about Top Gear, Final Fantasy Seven and Marvel comics can you?

No you can't.

Dilemma Number Fourteen: We're having a tan tan....

Fake tanning... the bain of my life.

At work today i threw my hair back into a ponytail (to get down to come serious work obv) and noticed a fucking white ring around my wrist where i had forgotten to take my hairband off when putting fake tan on. For fucks sake.

Over the years i've come to terms with the gingerness. That's cool. But the pastiness is my new moaning point. It's not fun when you point blank avoid colours when clothes shopping because your pasty shit white skin will clash. To remedy this, and to avoid streaks through fake tanning (see above for tanning gaff..)i decided to visit a tanning shop. Which was fun until the lasy politely informed me that if i have a lot of freckles, tanning can be a bit dangerous and i really should be either avoiding it all together or wearing near sun block. Thanks love- you think MAYBE you could have told me that when i started coming a month ago?

I read somewhere that freckles are a pigment malfunction... when you're skin pigment systems get a little confused. Fountian of all knowledge,wikipedia, says that freckles are clusters of melanin (?) which are visible on light skin. They say that when melanin is concentrated in places instead of evenly spread in the case of dark and olive skinned people (you bastards) the tolerance to UV light is lower, hence why us milkbottles are more likely to get skin cancer. So it's bye bye tan tan, hello tan in a bottle.

Fake tanning is a lot harder than it looks. I mean, are you supposed to leave underwear lines like a real tan? How do you recreate that telltale just-burnt cheeks? And how the HELL are you supposed to get the middle of your back? Do you need a degree in engineering or something?

Dilemma Number Thirteen: The Mountain

So....

In a bid to mentally recover from recent events and to sort out my fucking finances, i thought it might be a good idea to move home for a few months, to get myself together. However, i clearly did not think this through at all. In my head, i thought it wouldbe quite easy to condence all my stuff down into my small room @ home.... but instead i have biggets mountain of what can only be described as 'stuff' covering every inch of floor and spare surface. It makes me cry to think about my poor poor shoes locked away inder a moutain of old 69 magazines, computer stuff, cameras, and other random things.

I'm giving myself two months to turn myself around. By my birthday at the start of October, i want to have sorted out my finances (easier said than done...), sorted out money for rents etc, sorted out my dance jobs in Leicester and be back living in the city with someone that is the binary opposite of a certain glasses-wearing uberbitch that fucked us all over. The last thing i want is to get stuck here. I love my parents to peices and it's great living with the model Emma Hurst but.... i'm living with my parents. And i'm nearly 24. Twenty fucking four.

Fingers Crossed..

I'm back.. and starting off with a new cocktail...

Strawberry Kisses

Glass: Flute/ Sling
Garnish: Half Strawberry/ Mint Sprig

Ingredients:
-50ml Strawberry Puree
-50ml Rose Wine
-12.5ml Maraschino Liqueur
-dash cranberry juice
-half barspoon vanilla sugar

Method: Shake and Strain

When me and Steve were togehter he made me a gorgeous dinner once and for dessert he soaked strawberries in Luxardo Maraschino and gave them to me... they were simply gorgeous. Then, when i heard overheard a conversation about Strawberry Soup at work, i put the two together. Voil

Dilemma number eleven is not getting better...but then again i have had a few bad weeks

I think there is something very very wrong with me. My Lohan obsession got worse (the dream i had two weeks ago was so bad i blush every time i think about it) since i wrote about it last time, but to be honest if i takes my mind of things then all the better i suppose. Two weeks ago in the same week my nana got seriously ill, my dad was made redundant (along with seven hundred other people. Fucking Capital One), i got fired from my freelance job and the worst thing ever happened; Steve broke up with me.

Breakups have never been easy for me. They are never easy when you are the type of person that tends to give one hundred per cent regardless of what they are getting back in return. I loveed him with all my heart and even now, two weeks today, it still feels like it happened yesterday. I miss him so much.

So what happens now? I have no idea. My whole life feels like it has been turned upside down. Whether its for better or for worse i don't know. It's too early to tell... but what i do know is that one chapter of my life has finished and another has begun.

The funny thing is that this seems clear to me in the day, yet when night falls i break apart all over again and want to fight to be with him. He didn't want me. I guess i can't really argue with that, but when i go to bed and lie in that big big bed all alone i start to think 'what if i did things like this?', 'what if i said this? will he come back?'. He's not coming back.... and that's probably the hardest thing to accept.

When i broke up with Dan i was really upset, but i managed to get over it quickly because i had the safety barrier of being in a different city. I would never see him out with a new lady, i would never see him out in the street. Slowly, Dan became the voice on the telephone when i needed a friend.. and i became strong again. Now this feels ten times worse... hence the lack of writing.

I don't know.... everything just feels crap at the moment. Fingers crossed i'll be okay soon. xx

Dilemma number eleven revisited....again

The Lindsay Lohan obsession is not getting any better.... and i'm seriously beginning to worry.

I bought 'I know who killed me' the other day. I'm ashamed on two levels: one, because it is an utterly shit film (got loads of Rassies at the recent Raspberry awards... and I KNEW THIS before i bought the film), and two, because i only bought it because i know Lindsay pole dances in it. Wow, we're like so kindred spirits! Oh god. On the bright side, her sexy scenes were very inspiring and it made me really put loads of effort into my routines when i went to audition for Polestars, but that still doesn't change the fact that my obsession really should have subsided right now. True, i have many crushes on actors (The Vincent Cassell years, followed recently by crushes on Naveen Andrews, Andy Lau and currently Wentworth Miller) but never an actress.

Help needed. Pronto.

Are things actually going well for once??!

I've just got back from London after my Polestars audition and..... i'm pleased to say i got through! I'm going to be the Leicester/ East Mids Polestars rep and will hopefully start my courses soon! I hope to god i get a good turnout!


Plus, i am fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiianlly starting a paid journo job on monday working i the land of ex's (Nottingham) on a music magazine. Finally i'm getting paid for writing! Wooo!

And finally, Steve and I celebrated our YEAR anniversary yesterday. I'm so happy that things are great between us and i love having him under the same roof.

May the good times continue!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dilemma Number Twelve: The huge hole in my foot!

I had a little accident yesterday. Me and the kitchen door had a fight and i ended up with a gash in the top of my foot. You should have seen the door though- hohoho. One week away from my FIRST PHOTOSHOOT! Bollocks.

I'd put a pic up... but i can't bring myself to look at it! Urgh!

The girl with the pint glass (or 101 other reasons why i hate this city today)

Last night, a crazy woman came into the bar.

Not the type of crazy person that does no harm and you want to go out of your way to help. The 'drunken-chav-who-has-clearly-had-too-much-crack/heroin/weed-to-function'. The type of girl who thinks dressing up is throwing on a pair of kids skinny jeans and a crop top, paired with a fake DKNY bag and a ripped jacket. On table six she perches, trying in earnest to chat up two blokes she doesn't know while they stare into their pints hoping she'll leave.

What she doesn't know is that i've clocked her, far away down the stairs stood at the end of the bar standing in my usual 'management' position (and generally avoiding serving customers... but we don't talk about that). Me and my co-supervisor sail past her on the way to the office, and on the way back down the chav opens her big (and probably disease-infested) mouth and says in a screechy 'Lest-arrrr' drawl:

"What you two snobby bitches looking at? I know you're fucking talking about me, and if you look at me like that again i'll fucking bang you out and i'll come behind the bar and bang all your staff out you fucking ugly bitches"

When i became a bar supervisor aaaaaages ago i was given loads of training on how to sort out 'problem customers' like this, and in the beginning chucking a customer out would scare me, but now i get a lovely warm 'i'm-about-to-ruin-your-evening-sunshine' feeling as i silently slip out of the door and borrow the biggest, scariest bouncer (who's really a lovely bloke) they have from the chain pub nent door. In one swift movement, he launches himself through our front door, picks her up from her seat, throws her out into the street, strides back in to grab her half-drunk pint and throws it at her and she's sat in the street and finally slams the door shut after throwing her coat and bag out next to her.

That girl was on my mind for the whole evening (no- not THAT way... i only have lesbian thoughts for Lindsay Lohan... her and no other lady)- what the hell is going on with Leicester?

Talking as someone who grew up here, went to school and college here, began clubbing and drinking here, and came back to study a postgrad here, i've seen Leicester take a swan dive into the pool of cities and towns that noone wants to be associated with. It seems like over the last few years the whole town centre has become the home to drunks, agressive beggars, gang fights, robberies and troupes of chavs standing around doing nothing in particular.

It makes me sad because once upon a time Leicester used to be such a lovely place. I used to come into town clubbing with my girlfriends and we used to have such a good time, but now i don't feel safe walking down the road to our favourite pubs and clubs after work. I realised this after two incidents i witnessed last week; passing a drunken (and very angry) man throwing up all over himself just after six in the evening in town hall square when i was walking home from work, and once again having to throw out yet another group of lads from the bar last saturday because they were causing trouble.

The council say that everything will change when the new Shires is built. Regeneration of the city will create more jobs and bring more money into the area which will benefit everyone.

I hope they're right.... but i know they're not.

A message from my sister..

:) we all love Rachel she is very nice. Nine bar is fun. I am going to stop writing cos this is boring i do not want a blog now xxxxx

Why do i keep getting turned down for jobs?

My little 'steve-moves-in-i-leave-the-turkey-we-live-happily-ever-after' plan isn't going very well... mainly because i keep getting turned down for the jobs and it's putting a massive strain on us both, to the point where i'm beginning to seriously worry about our future. Steve's contract ended and he moved in with us all because my idiotic estate agents decided at the last minute that thy would let me leave my contract... and i thought everything was going to be fine. And then i started getting turned down for jobs here there and everywhere.

I forgot how bad it feels to be turned down... it's not the same when it's a bog-standard bar job or a shop assistnt gig. When someone says you didn't get the job and it's something you thought you were good at and something you're qualified in... you begin to question yourself. Am i a good writer? Will i ever make it as a journalist? Will i still be a bar supervisor at 30? Scary thoughts...

Please god, let me get a good job soon.....

Let it go Rach.... just let it go.

Last night was our staff night out....accompanied by the usual carnage/drunkeness and bad behaviour from myself as usual. Can't use the whole 'it seemed like a good idea at the time excuse', because, well it wasn't.

When the hell am i going to just let all these paranoid and scared feelings go? I had a conversation with a very good friend last night. A mutual friend of me and Steve. He told me he hasn't seen him this happy for a long time. And so settled with me. So why the hell can't i see it? I love Steve so so much, and yeah, it's only been like 10 months... but we get on so well and he makes me smile and laugh and insanely happy on a daily basis.

The paranoia gene is almost as distinctive in my sister and i as our similar loves, personalities and characteristics. Seeing our mum torn apart by heartbreak was enough to convince us that we should never trust a man again. But enough is enough. I'm sick of worrying i'm going to turn out like her; sad and unhappy because of what was done to her. I'm happy, have a great guy and it is really time i started to realise that. As well as realising i'm something that he might not want to throw away at a moment's notice.

I made breakfast for him this morning. A full english. I know it sounds silly but it's like getting a crash course in food. If he saw how little i eat when i'm not around him he would be horrified. But cooking in the kitchen was fun.... which was the first time i've enjoyed making food for ages. And the thankful look on his face when i brought it in for him was worth it all. He has no idea how happy he's making me, and i wish he could understand that's why i get so scared. I don't want to lose that, or him. Anyone that can help me love food, and help me to look in the mirror again is someone that really gets me. I have to realise, right now, that he on some degree or level likes (hopefully loves) me too. Every little glance, every little smile we share helps me get closer to that.

I'm trying. I really am.

Am i fat????

The fat blues are back again...

Steve's joined a gym... and i've ended up feeling reeeeeely crap about myself now. I would love to join too but i'm just now sure if i can afford it you know? I'm already struggling with rent and RBS loan payments (p.s i hate you) so i'm not sure if i can afford it. On the other hand... it's £7.50 a week. Surely i spend much more than that on crap right? Plus i eat out too much, drink on waaaaaay too many occasions (as you can already see) so surely it would be a good idea right? If i went twice a week that would be really good value...hmm. So not sure.

It's not as though i'm really fat. I am exaggerating largely here. I haven't gained 150 pounds since my last post. I'm still a size 8 with great boobs..but i stil have my usual body hangups... usually centering around my arms. Those bastard arms.

Steve's currently in the kitchen cooking us breakfast. And i've just lost my appetite...

Dilemma Number Eleven: The Lindsay Lohan dreams

First of all. I'm not gay. Not even a tiny bit. At least i don't think so?

But over the past week i've has several dreams where i've got up to some very random acts with none other than Lindsay Lohan. The first one was a few weeks ago when i dreamt that i was at a urban basement club (not The basement) with my housemate Michaela and Lindsay. Michaela and i had decided to leave early becuase we needed to get Gaz home as he was wasted, but as we got about halfway home we decided that we wanted to go back to the party and left Gaz in the middle of the road. Back at the club i met up with Linsday, and we had a very visual conversation about each other's boobs where we kept grabbing each others breasts in front of all our lad mates. Then the night passed in a whirl of events; me and Lindsay doing coke off a toilet seat (nb i am 100% drug free), us dancing and laughing and the high point of the night when she said i was gorgeous and could i help her sign some autographs?

So far, i have been swimming with Lindsay, partied with Lindsay and even kissed Lindsay a few times. Last night, fast asleep next to Steve, i dreamt i was a shy (but gorgeous) nurse assigned t Lindsay's bedside to look after her while she was in a coma. I read to her for weeks and finally she came round, thanking me again and again for helping her to come back to the real world and she must do something to repay me. She swore she would help me turn my back on my shy tendancies and turned me into the belle of the ball, through various trips to designer shops, hairdressers and through many druken nights on podiums at a few LA clubs.

I'm beginning to get worried. Steve however, thinks it's ace. I think he thinks i'm about to stumble upon the weird and wonderful world of bisexuality, which he wouldn't mind too much.

A strip club?? Well, it seemed like a great idea at the time

I'm beginning to think that drunk me is a person that should never ever be let out to play. Because bar a few precious nights out (i'm thinking Xmas eve and NYE here) i always tend to do something stupid/silly/mean/naughty/ embarrasing.

Example, last thursday. Ash's girly night out. I distinctly remember saying that day at work that i wasn't going to drink anything at all because i was low on money and really needed to pay my rent. Yet, very stupidly i got a £50 sub and went out that night ready for a large one. Big mistake. Ash works at Time, and like Turkey's at the Turkey she gets stupidly cheap drinks, cocktails and shots.... so for £10 we had about 8 cocktails, 2 beers, about 15 shots and a few drinks. I was hammered. But then, out of nowhere someone suggested we go to the Aviary and drunk me, the evil bitch that she is, said that would be a very good idea and we should go.

I knew it was a very bad idea te second we walked in. Men in suits drinking whisky on ice (cos that's oh-so-cool right?) and scantily clad girls everywhere. Now, i'm of the opinion that if you've got it, flaunt it. But if you happen to be a size 16, cellulite ridden lady wearing more make up than Pete Burns on a big night out then you might want to consider a different profession... some of the girls looked gorgeous (and i ended up spending my first tne minutes in the club hiding in the toilets worried i looked ugly), but some just looked horrendous. A fact that we couldn't hide and ended up in fts of giggles while watching some of the dancers. To which one stripper came over and not-so-polietly asked us if we were laughing at them. Ash managed to convince them that no, we weren't laughing in a mean way, we simply couldn't believe how great they all were. Crisis averted we thought, until the stripper then asked if we wanted a job!? Not good.

Hours later, drunk Rach was on her way home and fell out of the taxi, leaving sober Rach to find a lovely bruise on her bum and a stomach full of nasty alcohol... which all came back up the moment she arrived at work. Nice.

Moral of the story? Don't go to a strip club. And don't mix your drinks.

My first interview of the year- at a french magazine (Mon Dieu!)

In line with my new years resolution to get off my pretty little backside and find a job, i have managed to secure my first interview. And it's a nailbiter! Fingers crossed though the ginger one will be as cool as a cucumber and ace it.



In other news, i am currently setting up a sister blog to 'It seemed like a good idea at the time', which will showcase all my best written work so far, from 69 Magazine to newspaper work and fictional peices.

What happened to Christmas?!

It's the 1st Jan.....

The 1st Jan?! I don't get it.... it only seems like yesterday i was stressing out about the coming xmas months at work, when the hell i was going to find time to buy presents and what the hell i was going to do for NYE.... and here i am, on the other side facing a brand spanking new year and i'm totally not ready for it!

On the bright side, having such a busy december and no time to thinking about how potentially upsetting christmas could be was a godsend. Years ago when i was younger and at school, my family and i used to the do the same yuletide song-and-dance divorced kids all around the world have to endure. Which parent has the kids for christmas day, who has them for boxing day, who gets to take them to the january sales blah blah blah blah.....it used to break my heart (and my sisters for that matter) to think that while we were opening presents and stuffing ourselves with turkey, pigs in blankets (or angels on horseback??- fuck it, it's all the same...) the set of parents that didn't have us on the day would be sat at home with nothing to do. And then come boxing day we'd march out the door leaving a path of destruction and bits of sellotape all over the floor and another set of parents planning how to spend the day in a suddenly oh-so-quiet house.

A couple of years ago my mum decided she'd had enough of this and decided to strategically plan her holidays so that she would be safely abroad during christmas day, thereby avoiding any potential moments of sadness and at the same time avoiding the bitters winters that she loathed. I guess it worked in a way beacuse Emma and i didn't have to do the song and dance anymore.... but it meant that we never saw our mum during December. Mum was in Sri Lanka on the day of the tsunami a couple of years ago... now that was a fucking great xmas. Spending your boxing day wondering whether your mum is dead and if we should go pick up her dogs from the kennels is not my idea of festive fun (although it was slightly amusing when she phoned sometime that evening and started the conversation with "Guess what? I'm not dead!").

Anyway, this December has been such a whirlwind ride that i haven't had chance to worry about all that... sort of. The days running up to Christmas were a combination of long laborious days at work making endless batches of homemade mulled wine, hurried christmas present shopping (mostly for Steve's presents... i was TERRIFIED he'd hate his presents) and catching a bit of sleep here and there.


Xmas eve... hilarious. Me and Steve worked the day shift and then pretty much just stayed in the bar and drank and drank and drank. Then we managed to drunkenly help with the clean down, throw mouldy fruit at the flats opposite (they so deserve it... trust me) and then throw cream cakes at passing cars. When steve and i got back to his house he thought it would be nice to give his car a xmas hug, and then we rushed inside and put our hats and scarves in the sink (?), before finishing the night off with a play fight- where he accidentally headbutted me and i accidentally split his lip. Now that's love people.


Xmas day... not as stressful as i thought. Pretty chilled out... until we found out that my mum's plan to be very-much-abroad for xmas had gone badly wrong. She'd been admitted to hospital on the day she was supposed to go and she was so ill doctors told her there was no way she could fly so they had cancel the holiday. What's worse is that my mum didn't tell us because she 'didn't want to bother us'..... argh. So we rushed over on boxing day, me driving my dad's car just like the good old days. The night was filled with me crying back at my house on the narb... my house mates trying to figure out why my life is always so dramatic, me eating loads of cheese and crackers and then throwing it all up at three in the morning.. fun!

New years eve... well i had to work so it was pretty shitty... but still quite fun. But i still can't believe it's January now. I remember new years eve 1999/2000- we brought the new year in dancing on our driveway with sparklers and fireworks. So long ago.

So now down to business.... new years resolutions. I sincerely hope that there's someone ou here who still believe in doing this because i've asked around and noone seems to have thought of anything. I still see New Years as chance to start afresh and sort myself out. This year, i've decided on four:

1... get a bloody job. By NYE 2008 i want to be in a job where i'm not having to save every single penny for bills, and where i'm actually getting paid to write.

2...write more. Wherever, whenever.

3... stop the paranoia and worrying. This is avery important one because i've been battling this for way way too long now and i'm sick and tired of my life flying past while i worry and obsess that something may go wrong. I have a good life, great friends and great boyfriend. No, they're not going to all leave. Nom they're not all out to hurt me. No, they're not all out to steal Steve. No, Steve isn't just going to up and leave. No, Steve isn't going to fall into bed with someone else. You get the idea.

4...buy a car. Now this one cannot work without number one and better money management, but it's good to aim high right?

Anyway guys, happy new year and big big love to all.

Ray xxxxxx