Dance Till You're Dead.

Or it's off with your head.

So an unexpected shopping trip to my favourite Oxford Street led me to a not-so-unexpected trip into Urban Outfitters. I know right, of all the places.

I had a pretty good deal I needed to make use of that day, as guilty as I felt, because a good shopping offer is hard to pass up. I was allowed to get one thing that I really wanted as my other shopping partner had just been into Topshop and bought the store out.

The challenge : Do it all under 5 minutes.

This was the most difficult challenge yet. If I had just as so much missed the deadline, the deal was off, never to be offered again. Oh, I exaggerate, but it seemed this way in my head.

So it was a race through Urban Outfitters, and against time. I had already pinpointed the best places to look in my head. Dahdahdah and I had found it. In approximately 4 and half minutes if I may add.

Elastic Detail Skimmer


So pretty, so pretty, so pretty. I still have my ancient Tracce flats which are super comfy, super comfy, super comfy. I don't think I will ever find another pair of flats as comfy as them because you can run, jump and somersault in them and I think my exact words when I first got them were : 'You can feel the ground beneath you.' But back to this pair, it's just gorgeous, and it somehow reminds me of the shoes that showed in the Louis Vuitton A/w 09 collection.

I still want those exact shoes anyway.

And I'd now like to add Fastest 'Awesome Finds' Shopper to my books.

Cheers.

She Said Goodbye To The Ground.

And jumped.

So to the point.

Yesterday was FUCKING AMAZING.

I know I say that about all the concerts I go to, but maybe there is a point I pay good money to go see them? I don't know, just a thought. I wasn't quite pumped to go for the concert at first, but after doing my usual routine of listening to the band's tracks on replay for the entire week, I was so ready to declare my undying love for them.

Band : Brand New

Opening Acts : Thrice and Glassjaw

Orgasm : Maximum

When I learnt that Thrice was opening for Brand New I literally freaked out. The only band that could make me listen to Eleanor Rigby on repeat was going to open for only the next coolest all-male screamo band.

Now Glassjaw was the uncertainty. An hour before the show, I googled them and listened to one of their more popular tracks. I was not impressed. I couldn't quite get the tune of the song, although the screaming was pretty good and the frontman was quite energetic in the video. Only a live show would make everything a little clearer.

All standing tickets had been sold out and from the crowd I could see why. There was not a space left empty in the pit, filled with mostly tall hot emo boys.

Speaking of tall hot emo boys, I officially love tall hot emo boys.

Thrice starts on time. I have absolutely no bad comments about this band live. The shredding was brilliant, the screaming impeccable, and definitely a brilliant start to the show. There wasn't much moshing to their music, although there were some saddos trying to start what they were there for.

Intermission. A guy from Denmark sits two seats from me with the stereotypical Scandinavian metal rocker look. We got talking about Glassjaw and I reckon that he's probably their most dedicated fan.

1. He has their logo tattooed on his forearm.

2. He flew all the way from Denmark to see them, despite having been to two of their other concerts.

3. He doesn't even live in London, and I quote 'this is the most expensive concert yet.'

Glassjaw comes on early. It's a four-man band, and the lead singer comes out in an adorable printed sweater. Already I am thinking, either this Danish guy is so right about them, or he's an absolute nutter.

The first I heard was screaming. Not start-singing-and-break-into-scream screaming. Not raspy-I-can't-really-scream-but-I-still-am screaming. Actual painful screaming.

They now have my attention.

The atmosphere proves to be too hot for the singer and he pulls of his sweater at the back of the stage. He comes back to the front, not walking, not running, not skipping.

But jumping. Actual hands-behind-the-back jumping. And when he wasn't doing that, he was fiercely stamping his foot on the ground as if it was on fire. And when he wasn't doing that, he was writhing about on stage like someone was twisting his limbs. And when he wasn't doing that, he was kicking about like a rabid horse.

All in between screaming.

The performance would not have been as fantastic if it wasn't for the lead's energy. He was all over the stage throughout the show, doing acrobatic stunts and kicks and turns. This guy even popped his body while the bass guitar had a solo. The other members had become invisible next to the frontman, and I don't blame them.

I am now addicted to Glassjaw.

Brand New comes out last to a dark arena, and even darker stage. Slowly spotlights start to appear from behind them and they break into their first song Sink. I thought it was a killer start to their show. They played all their best songs, including their classics. It was a mix of Sink, Vices, At The Bottom, Sic Transit Gloria ... Glory Fades, I Believe You But My Tommy Gun Don't, Limousine, Jude Law and A Semester Abroad and so many others I can only vaguely remember. I don't really have anything new to say about this band; they were masterclass.

'Sorry guys, we need a recess. We need to discuss dinner plans.'

'Can I join you?' (I had to at least try?)

'Okay, we're having steak.'

You're funny. Now scream for me.

XXX

Glassjaw's frontman goes by the name of Daryl Palumbo. Head Automatica's frontman is Daryl Palumbo.

Wow, the world just went fuzzy.

How on earth do you have powerpop and post-hardcore/screamo vocals come from the same guy? It was beyond comprehension because this guy either is a musical genius or has a multiple personality disorder. You might want to think it was the former, because as mentally disturbed as you may be it doesn't give you brilliant vocals.

Honestly, how can you go from So You Think You're John Fucking Lennon to Beating Hearts Baby?

Mindblown. Totally mindblown.

And somehow as unconventional as this guy looks, he turned me on with all that screaming and those skinny jeans and that really really thin shirt he kept winding around his finger because he was feeling angsty.

Just. A little. Angsty.

Cheers.

Is This Like A Flashback?

Maybe I can't see it.

I warn you, this little fashion insert is going to be followed by an excruciatingly annoying post about my green-eyed monster. And he really wants to meet you.

I have been spending frivolously lately. Yes, it's even too frivolous for me to bear. But don't blame it on me, blame it on the sales baby. Here is my latest buy.

Vintage Black and Gold Brocade Bolero Jacket by Scott McClintock

I saw it, I fell in love with it, I ignored the price tag. Thank god it wasn't too much of a chunk, although I do admit that I wouldn't have paid that much for it had it not been vintage. But it's in season, it has shoulder pads and it's the most opulent brocade print I have seen so far. The actual print is very similar to this one, but imagine it as gold instead of bronze and a cutesy jacket instead of a dress. Suck in that gut, girl!

By the way, I found a pair of shorts very similar to the Marc Jacobs pair in my wishlist except that they didn't have my size. See, it happens people. Go early for your sales!

End of fashion insert.

The beginning of your torture.

It's that green-eyed monster in me again. Always watching, always comparing. And as soon as it has a chance to snap, it snaps. Punching you hard in the chest, everytime you realise that that girl has everything that you don't.

Here's the story. A friend of mine and I visit an upmarket hair salon in town, where she plans to get a trim and blow-dry. Right before this visit takes place, we have a conversation about how she should think about modelling because she has the face and boy, does she have the height. Runway literally calls her name.

Now at this salon, I take notice of a sign that says something about them hiring new models for their hair photoshoots. Just as I finish reading it, my friend is approached by the chief stylist of the store asking her if she would be interested in modelling for them.

Yes. You know it.

1. I read way too many fashion magazines/journals/websites/anything not to know what a model's face should look like. Or their exact measurements.

2. I am soooo jealous.

It's like that time when Rachel is talking to Phoebe about Monica's wedding. And how she slowly reveals just how jealous she is about her, eventhough she knows she has to be happy for her as a friend.

There's a Friends moment for everything.

I mean, I want to be happy for her. It's brilliant that she got spotted and that they took down her details. It's brilliant that everyone told her how pretty her hair looked after it was finished. (I mean, DUH. She just got her hair done at YOUR salon. If it didn't look good, you might want to shoot yourself.) And it's brilliant that everyone told her how lovely her dress was.

Now.

There's a line.

And it has to be drawn somewhere.

I didn't buy my mohair 'call-me-hairy' jacket because I like the feeling of hair against my skin. If that was the case I could have easily gotten myself a monkey on my back. Or a boyfriend from India. (But racism was never tasteful.)

I bought it because it screamed statement piece. I bought it because it complements my figure, or whatever you might want to call this shape of mine. I bought it because I think it looks alot better than her dress.

Her dress was lovely. Just lovely. And that's it. Blue. Puffy sleeves. Cotton.

I could have made it myself.

But yes. This dilemma I'm fighting within me is beginning to be a bit of a pickle. Because I know I work hard on my image. I work hard to make my hair look as good as it wants to be. I work hard to make sure I don't eat shit so I can actually have a body that I am proud of. I work hard to dress differently and keep my eye out for unique pieces, which I don't mind spending crazy amounts of money on because it's all part of the fight.

The fight to stand out.

And I know that there is never a chance for me to model because of my god-given height and what I might call curves (or fat, if you like.) But deep down, there is still a part of me that wants to. There is a part of me that wants to be best at everything I am interested or involved in. I have that fighting spirit in me, and sometimes I get myself down because I am not the best.

I'm just mediocre.

I felt mediocre standing next to my friend. She's beautiful, and she's tall. And she has the most gorgeous hair colour, if I might add. And it made me realise that there are just some things I can't be best at. I can't be the best-looking. I can't even be average-looking while we're there. I might as well settle for below average, and try and be best at that if it counts for anything.

Deep down, I guess I am proud of her. I'm glad that she did get the chance today, and that she seized it. And I am happy I was there to see her genuine excitement over it.

Meanwhile, I'll just stand behind her, waiting for my chance to shine.

If it ever gets here.

Or if they can even see me behind her.

Cheers.

I Love London.

Ola.

What is not to like about Urban Outfitters? Nothing really. Their playlists have launched me into a whole new realm of musical satisfaction, namely Kitsune Maison Compilation 1-8, Greco-Roman, Siriusmo, and Girl Talk. Their store theme is based on an urban alternative vibe and most of the pieces on sale are non-mainstream, which basically means you have to have a pretty good imagination to be able to coordinate your outfit.

I mean, what's more fun than shopping + a game + an awesome soundtrack all in one store?

That's the question they asked Beyond Retro. And Beyond Retro gave them vintage. So, it's the same scenario, except now everything is vintage. You've got to love their awesome possum playlists; to name a few : The Phenomenal Handclap Band, Lady Sovereign and a good mix of the Noisettes. I personally prefer the store where I am living to the one in London because it's bigger and it has more clothes from 80s.

And did I mention that the sales assistants in both stores are especially friendly and always dressed so impeccably? I mean, it's a simple marketing strategy. Put on a smile and treat your customers like royalty, because that's when they will have the unsatiable urge to spend spend spend.

Learn something, Topshop.

Bless Topshop, that beautiful place. But I just wish the sales assistants gave you a bit more time of day. I understand it's a busy store and that pile of clothes on the ground never seems to stop growing, but show a little respect. A smile, perhaps. I guess you can't help that so many of the town bimbos spend too much time at your shop (and they complain about American bimbos!).

But back to the point.

What was the point?

I don't know.

But here are the items currently on my wishlist.

Vans Hi-Tops

I want this exact pair because it's funky and it's Vans and ... need I say more? Oh yes, and I can actually afford it. The one problem is that they don't have my size (as usual) but I suppose I should take advantage of the free delivery service.

Hmmm.

Marc Jacobs Satin Shorts

Reality check. I probably won't be afford this until I'm much older or earning in the billions. Whichever happens first. But these are the perfect shorts. I've always wanted a pair in black satin and these have the perfect cut.

Henry Holland Mock Stock Printed Tights

Aren't they cheeky? I can actually afford this pair, eventhough the designer from the House of Holland had a had in it. I need to order them online though, because buying anywhere else might just break the bank.

I have more items on my wishlist, but I might just drive you crazy if I continue. So let's just take a break here and absorb the amazingness of these items.

And take notes.

And remember when my birthday is.

Cheers.

Killswitch.

Kill the switch.

It's lonely nights like these that make you miss the people you love the most.

How true. I haven't missed my family this much in a long time, that is, the family that is halfway across the world. The family that would require crazy amounts of currency to be with.

Goddamn average incomes.

But I'm still missing alot more than that. I'm thinking about my life in its precise motion. Slow and calculated, desperate for something to speed it up to something of substance. I am missing the times that still run through my head in all its technicolour; blue, green, taupe. Violet and charcoal.

I miss the times when things were guaranteed. I miss the times when there was always something to do, something to see, something to be.

And I've lost it now.

The good memories date back to 3 years ago, when things were good. When company was aplenty. When you could have a laugh, instead of force it. When someone was always going to be your personal jester, your personal listener, your personal everything. When you could collectively take the mick out of someone you admire deep down, but never admit to it. When you could wake up to a good feeling in your head, instead of a weight in the pit of your stomach. When you didn't have to sort out anything confusing. When you knew exactly what you wanted and it was still easy to come by.

When you directed life.

Not when life directed you.

It can be cruel. It can change you into who you never thought you would be, sometimes for the worse. It can make you feel so ashamed of the state you're in, and then leave that to control you. It can leave you feeling hopeless, lonely and drained from doing absolutely nothing.

And then it begins its torture.

1. I miss you. I miss how easy it is to talk to you. I miss how we can laugh at something without talking. I miss how you can be yourself in any situation and laugh the whole time. I miss how you and I agree on things others would find disturbing. I miss how you just don't care about things that shouldn't bother you. I miss how you make the world any colour you want it to be.

2. And you. I miss you for being such a perfect listener. I miss how you make me feel better just by being there. I miss how easy it is to start a conversation with you. I miss how I can discuss my deepest problems without worrying about you judging me. I miss how you understand me when I talk in riddles. I miss how I always need to talk to you. And you don't mind.

(Why are you still single?!)

3. And I miss you too. I miss how you always need to go out with me. I miss how you love so selflessly. I miss how you get excited over the cutest things. I miss how I can be myself around you. I miss how you know exactly what's wrong with me and tell me what to do about it before I can finish my story. I miss how you care so much about me.

You know who you are. Three complex individuals who are so different, and yet so alike. Three people who all offer me comfort in different ways.

Three people who should be here next to me right here right now, creating our own little party.

Our own little comfortable party.

Cheers.

Model Me You And Me.

Everybody loves ... Oh!

I haven't done this in a while, so I thought it's about time. I present to you, my Christmas buys of 2009.

1. Quilted Panel Skirt from Miss Selfridge

My obsession with the pencil skirt is as strong as ever, and here I am racking up my very own collection of them. What can I say? A tug here, a tug there - and it defines you into the perfect female shape. Not to mention this slinky black one has quilting and corset detailing.

2. ________ Dress from Miss Selfridge

This adorable day dress is a past trend, but I'm not defying any principles. I hate trends, you know that right, and I would not be caught following one. This item is nowhere to be seen on the website (because it's a ghost item!)* so here's a similar one from Topshop. I have this one in satin, but replace the pattern on the bottom half with paint swabs.

3. Slouchy Grey Knit Mohair Cardigan from River Island

This by far my pride and joy of the year. Mohair gives it the edge, and the scrap wool in various colours knitted in with the grey rows is just genius! Again I can't find the image on the website, so I'll have to settle for this one from Topshop. It's quite similar, and yet very different. The texture and the mohair is exactly the same, but it's grey and sits on your shoulders like a poncho, rather than a proper cardigan, all the while still being a cardigan. Get it?

Ah, go figure.

4. Black playsuit from Bershka

Since moving here, I have become the lover of two : H&M, my Swedish sexybeast and Bershka, my Spanish sexybeast. Speaking of sexybeasts, would you check out the sales assistants at Bershka? They are spazzingly hot, let me tell you.

So I've always wanted to see how a playsuit/jumpsuit would look on me, and loe behold - not bad at all. It also helps that this was on sale. The one I have is similar to this, but it's a smocked bandeau front, without the bow.

5. The over-sized white shirt from Bershka

It's a wardrobe essential. Enough said. I have the same one, except the buttons go straight down, instead of hanging around at the side.

6. Cowl-neck black knit sweater from H&M

I had to have something with a cowl-neck. And it basically always has to be short. And because it's cold at the moment (it's snowing outside as I type!) I have to make an effort to cover up. This exact one, but in black.

I have so many more to show you, but there's only one me! (Ha-ha.) And to those who have now lumped me together with those girls who have nothing better to do with their time and money and talk about how their next purchase was more expensive than the last, while quoting designer labels all throughout, go suck it. Because each item I have presented here was bought on sale or was well within my budget.

Y'all ha'ers juz trippin' aite.

Cheers.

* So funny story, right. I was prepared to pay XX amount for this dress and told myself that I would not spend this much again on clothes in one go. At the cashier, she tells me my total is four times less than I thought it would have been. So I end up paying X amount for it (single digits!) and no, you don't question the cashier when she asks for less than what you thought you were going to give up. Who knows, maybe she's a lesbian and wants a back rub later.

And then I come home to look for this item on the shop's website and it's not there! So then I thought how could I have paid in single digits for a dress that used to be six times that amount, and not find it on the website later?

Ooh spooky.

My Cocaine.

I'll have you forever.

I've lost it. I've lost how to effortlessly deliver my ideas into my posts so they are worth reading. I've lost how to engage readers, even myself, into understanding my emotions and my thoughts through words. I've lost just how important my blogging is to me. It's now become a chore, a task - when it used to be something I yearned to do. Something I used to shut the rest of my thoughts out from. Something I used to dedicate myself to. And now it just seems like something I have to do, to keep myself busy when the nights are lonely.

Always lonely.

And then I realised it's because the blog needs me now, when I used to need the blog. I treated it like an entity because it was more than a web address, a binary code, or your weekend alternative to sex pages. It was alive. It heard me when I cried to it. It listened and watched as I revealed my deepest secrets, my desires, my obsessions. And it cared. The more I turned to it, the more it transformed to a living being.

But things changed. I started to see the better things in life past the disasters. I discovered the people in my life who were really there for me all the while. People I could touch, smell and see. My reliance onto virtual companions started to dissolve, and soon after that I forgot about it. Unbeknownst to me, this blog was dying and had been left without anything to give it life again.

It's concrete existence was still there, as it would be permanently -and I started composing mediocre posts. I would combine completely unrelated ideas with false emotions, just for the sake of keeping this blog alive. Just barely. I may as well have started posting pictures of people eating.

Forcing it is an understatement.

But I've realised that a second-grade blog is no blog at all to me. I am going to make an effort now to be genuine (oh the effort) and post about things I really care about and describe how exactly I feel about things, all the while maintaining some sort of quality control just avoid poisoning.

For my mind and yours.

So I either end this writer's block, or kill this blog altogether with the click of a button.

And I'll choose the former.

Much to your dismay.

Cheers.

He's A Jolly Good Fellow.

And he better love me this year.

Last year, I was so excited with the whole new year shebang that I came up with not one, but three posts about ringing it in. This year, I was so caught up in myself and the company that I completely forgot to post my final send-off to the year that was. So hopefully dear readers, I hope you can forgive me for my incredible sense of punctuality and read this post as if it was fresh off the press.

So. What was the year that was ... about?

Quite basically, it started off with exams. One of the biggest challenges I have faced so far, if I may add, and bringing home superb results just meant to me that I can do anything if I try hard enough. The problem was : trying hard enough.

Then I think the month after that infatuation hit me like a speeding bullet (both fast and unwanted) but thankfully it never became anything more. Another year of mental degradation was all I needed, yes.

More exams followed, and this time I was definitely less prepared than I could have been. My birthday came next, and the week after I had one of the most fantastic experiences so far : dancing all night long in a world famous club, illegally.

Doing it legally would have cancelled out half the fun.

My results were out soon after, and then it was tension-filled all the time up to my flight.

And the days after that were just a blur, floating by me. I still wake up everyday thinking I am in a dream. I pinch myself, harder and harder each time, just so that it can wake me from this cruel curse that I have been thrown into.

But slowly I will come to terms with the fact that this is not a dream. I am really here. With family. With new friends. With a new part of my life. I will come to terms with the fact that I am literally on my own now. That I have to make my own choices. That I am responsible for what I choose. That I make my own life path.

And that was the year for me.

This year, I don't want to make any resolutions. I don't want to decide things for myself. I just want to hope that good things will happen for me, and I will not have suffer through anything unfavourable. That I will begin to get noticed and stop watching others get what I can't have. That I will find someone who cares for just as much as I care for them. That I will find loyal comrades to enjoy all my mad escapades with (if I have not found them already.) That I will focus on my work and my exams and not fail myself. That I will love my family as much as they love me.

And that I will never give up on expressing myself creatively, no matter what other people dictate.

So raise your glass with hope in my name and have a blessed year ahead.

Cheers.