Situations.

I can't handle it.

This is going to be another one of those I-am -talking-to-you-not-you-not-you-not you-but you-yes-you kind of posts. Where I don't really have a steady train of thought, but one that decides to stop at random points on the tracks for crazy amounts of time, and then make you switch to another train that seems to move at first and then stop again just to piss the hell out of you.

Kind of the one I was on yesterday.

So recently, I have been faced yet again with 'that certain situation' where I am unable to participate in something which would allow my life to be a little more colourful and entertaining and possibly a little less lonely. That situation that I sometimes curse when I am all alone, thinking of what else I could be doing with my life at that point in time. The situation that I could easily pull myself out of, but choose to sit and suffer through for the time being.

I have pretty much come to that point in that emotions cycle where you just can't be bothered anymore. After you find something you think might be worth pouring your time and effort into, you do. And sometimes you get pretty favourable results.

If you're tall, pretty and skinny, that is.

So that means for me it pretty much backfires. And once you get over the fact that as much effort and thought as you put into the situation, you will only get just as much negative drama back in your face. And after a while, you just turn asexual. Totally uninterested in anything that would have sent you head over heels just before. Because you just fucking give up really. You try - nothing happens. You don't try - really, nothing happens.

But I digress.

I was talking about not being old enough, and then I moved on to my issues with the male species. See what I mean about trains not moving?

So yes. I could easily do something about my situation, and possibly lift myself out of it with a make-do Get Out Of Jail Free card (it is really like being in jail.) It would be a tiny expense out of my weekly budget, but for all the times I would be using it - it would be more than worth it.

But I really can't be fucking bothered.

Because I don't care how many people I don't meet. I don't care how many people I don't get to make out with. I don't care how much fun I would have. I don't care how many nights I would come back from a good night absolutely drunk. I don't care how much time I would not spend sitting in my room, staring into space.

I don't give a shit.

So why do you?

Be selfish. Let me wallow in my despair. If I can't be bothered about these things, I don't see why you should. When I feel like it's time, I will make the effort. Because if you know me well enough, I will swallow my pride and fears and do everything I can to make this happen. My drive will be my only motivation, so I don't see how you could help me at any amount.

When I figure myself out, I'll let you know.

Cheers.

All The Right Friends In All The Right Places.

And we're going down.

There is something in mass media that taps into a secret opening into our minds. We can't see it probably because the mass media put it there themselves by opening our head up with their claws and setting their ideas so they begin to take root there. But you can't see anything even if you wanted to.

Unless you're mass media.

I think I can safely say that I am a victim. A victim of having had various ideals planted into my thoughts so that one day I can travel the earth in search of it and once I finally have the golden key to happiness, crack open that locked (shall I say the 'anti-Pandora') box and breathe in all of life's beauty.

Which probably doesn't even exist.

Take The Hills.




Okay, maybe not The Hills.

Take The City.




Yes, well I know I'm not rich and famous, but we can work with New York and fashion, couldn't we?

Alright then, Ugly Betty. ...Aha! Ugly Betty. She's fat. I'm fat. She's got an annoying voice. I've got an annoying voice. She looks like a pig sometimes. Hello? Me = oink oink.

And she works in fashion. And she works with the most gorgeous editor-in-chief. And she has a few pretty cute guys running after her (god knows why.) And she lives in New York City.

I don't know how big I can type out 'ideals' but IDEALS.

That is quite literally where I see myself. In New York and in fashion. Writing for a top magazine and living the city life. I dream this too much, I suppose. But sometimes I can't help smiling like a dumb fool at the screen everytime Betty has a whirlwind romance or comes out with a brilliant idea for a spread in a magazine.

Maybe my dreams are just inflating uncontrollably.

XXX

A recent series of events has led to me to think about myself. Yet again, I know. But this time in a more positive light. Shocking, I know. Because this time I am re-evaluating just how much ambition I have inside of me and just how much drive I am willing to give myself to get something that I truly want. The whole situation has turned me into a little bit of a monster, acting as if I was the only chess piece in the game with total disregard for how other people felt about me. I was the only one looking at everything objectively, while everyone was still sitting back comfortably and pondering their emotions and how they might affect the others negatively.

Blergh, all this wishy-washy nonsense makes me sick.

Call me a bitter bitch, but I just think that sometimes you might have to step on people to get what you want. But just where is this line drawn? Just who and how many are we allowed to step on/annihilate/kill?

Well it really depends on whether the other parties involved are willing to step on you. If you know or sense with primal instinct that they would get rid of you in a heartbeat, then go right ahead. If you let the bad people in life get to you, you may as well self-destruct on spot. And if you don't get the bad people, you could do just the same.

Patience is another issue because I am a true believer of the non-violence policy. Just to be clear, mental abuse is not included as violence, because I like it that way. So if you want to have a juvenile outburst for the first time, go ahead but that is strike one. If you want to have another immature snap-attack, do it with caution but be warned. And if you feel the desperate need to have a cow moment at me for the third time, oh baby, it's about time I showed you who was bitch.

I am not your punching bag, neither am I your snap-taker. (I made the word, so use it.) I don't take crap from you because I expect more from you sweetheart. I know that you try to make yourself believe that you are nineteen and drag everyone else down that lane with you, but really I think you haven't grown since you were five. Although, please believe me when I say that I try to deny that you really are five. I mean, you are about five times taller than me but your spoilt-brat tantrums are making me feel really doubtful.

I don't really want to try and count how many ideas I have tried to cramp into this post, but that's what they have calculators for, my deahs. It's a mish-mash of thoughts, but that's the way you hear me usually, don't you?

Oh. And one more thing. Any relation of the ideas used in this post to real living and breathing people is totally intentional.

And totally meant to offend you.

Cheers.

My Delirium.

Join me.

Last week was a pretty shit period for me. I didn't have anything to look forward to and people seemed to keep getting in my way and pissing me off. My longing for home returned, after I thought I had hidden it deep down within me. Turns out you can never hide something horrible for too long.

They all hit me in one go, leaving lasting bruises and even deeper burns just to remind me that I could still hurt like this. I guess if it's not some asshole you fell in love with that is hurting you, it would be something you came up with yourself. Maybe pain keeps us alive.

It was at first a period of intense hurt, and severe self-questioning followed as it usually does. Because everything that happens to me should have been caused by something I did. And then the confusion, the anger and the general annoyance of the situation.

And then everything changed into something unexpected; stagnancy. I was stagnant. Like I was just floating by in a mass of something alive but hardly moving. Like life had just let me down right then and there. Like it had just stopped mid-way without warning or a sign of it picking up velocity again.

And then I felt constricted. I started to feel that I am not meant for this situation and that life has a bigger purpose for me. The people around me do not share the same dreams that I do, and not even their own have the same grandiosity as mine have. They don't have the same thirst for life that I suffer, or a hunger for the things that they want in life. They are content, simply happy with what they have.

Maybe this is the reason why I am excited to move out of my current living space. I am already dreaming of how it will look and how it could best appeal to me. The colours, the shapes, the general feel of it. How it would give me comfort at the end of a long day. How it would allow me to delve into my thoughts as soon as I step into it. How I could travel to another space or time just by sitting there and dreaming.

How I could escape from my confines.

Perhaps I have set these boundaries myself and have chosen to ignore the fact that I could easily break through it any time I want to. Perhaps these boundaries are easy to overcome but I am holding myself back from them. Perhaps I am just dreaming these boundaries altogether.

But there is one thing I know for sure. My dreams aren't for play. I am going to make them reality. I am going to move into my dream city and my dream apartment and my life. I am going to have my dream job and my dream friends and my dream partner.

And maybe finally I can be happy.

I just don't know if it will take eternity.

Cheers.

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.