I have a second home on the net...A Pretty Face
is my new blog. The aim was to create something that I could point to when people asked me about my writing. As opposed to this, which is full of Merlin squee and ranting and things of a more personal nature. I can't condition myself to write here as though no one else can see, and every aspiring journalist has a blog these days... so I made myself a more public home.
I wont be moving though. You couldn't prise my LJ away from me if you tried. I heart this place, and have done ever since I started blogging here way back in 2002, when I was apparently moving from another public blog that I don't even remember having!
If you want to add the new blog too, be my guest. So far it has a readership of one! I'm expecting it to have more actually content than I usually post here, more in-depth reviews and things, although there will undoubtably be some crossover! I imagine things here will continue to be far more informal. And filled with slash.ETA:
the rss feed is prettyfacekitty
, which I totally forgot that LJ even did last night, despite being subscribed to loads of them. Oh dear.
Just went to see Twilight
with Bethan. It was unbelievably shit. Pretty much Titanic
but with vampires instead of icebergs. Or The Notebook
with vampires instead of, uh, chemistry. Somehow they managed to make vampires about as sexy or as scary or as interesting as a fucking golden onion. And Bella is such a Mary Sue...( spoilers.Collapse )
Anyway, I may review this properly at some point. Or I may not.
I also saw Inkheart
recently, and that too was utter bollocks (although better than Twishit
). It was saved for me, however, by Paul Bettany's incredible hotness, and the fact that he was in it LOADS and sometimes with his SHIRT OFF JUGGLING FIRE. That man is extremely sexy. And he had a ferret. Considering I've watched Wimbledon
hundreds of times for Mr Bettany and endured Kirsten Dunst, I could easily sit through some terrible plotting and Brendan Fraser on autopilot for the sake of some shirtlessness. Thoroughly recommended to all fellow Bettanyphiles. Everyone else? Maybe Changeling
is good. I hear it's good.
As promised here is my new hair cut:( Read more...Collapse )
As you can see, it is still fairly mullet-y. The lady blended all the layers through, though, to try and make it sit better. And the fringe is new. Why do I always looked fucked off in photos I take of myself?
Also, whilst I'm here, photos of the new tattoo!( Read more...Collapse )
It's still a bit flaky but otherwise looking good! I love the shading on it... Hah, I'm listening to Pink Floyd "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" as I type this! I'm shifting my arm for a better shot here, so you don't get a sense of the placement, so here's a shot that I took for the hair that actually shows the position of the tattoo better...( Read more...Collapse )
And I'm done posting pictures of myself. See that baby face though? That's why no one ever believes I'm twenty three. I'll be thirty and people will still be asking me what I'm studying. Doesn't help that inside I still feel like a giant child! Mind you, my mum is definitely still not quite grown up so maybe that's where I get it from.
Was supposed to work a double today but cancelled the earlier shift so I'm just working this evening. I know it's bad, and I really need the money, but I hate my job so much! I just keep thinking, "bah, put the rest of this month's rent on the overdraft and stay home" which, needless to say, is an absolutely terrible idea.
It's just that my job is so repetitive and incredibly boring
and I think people really underestimate how torturous it is to be forced to sit and do absolutely nothing
for hours at a time. It's a bit better when I'm working on my evening campaign, because my line manager for that shift pretends not to notice if I sit there doing a sudoku while I wait for someone to pick up the phone. My afternoon shifts are with a different manager at the moment, who is much stricter (the rule is NOTHING on the desks. I can doodle a bit on the back of my tally sheet. That's about it. For three and a half hours) so those shifts are usually spent staring into space fantasising about killing myself with office furniture.
Even if I AM able to sit and do sudokus and get paid for it, it's still so horribly depressing to be achieving absolutely nothing. And then there's the trying to get people to give me money, which is pretty soul destroying too.
Aargh! Okay, now I feel even worse about my shift later! At least it's a sudoku-playing shift and I have new ones to do and everything.
After Christmas I have to try and get a new job. Or at least actually go to this one full time and steel myself to it. I'm going to work the less well paid full day hours now that I have been there long enough to qualify for them. That would be a 10-5 day (so short! So badly paid!) and I think that might be easier to motivate myself for. At the moment, starting at half one just gives me too much time to bum around the house in the morning thinking about the awful day to come. And so I don't go! If I don't give myself time to think about it, it's much easier.
At least I have a job, to keep me in tattoos and haircuts, huh? Millions of other people aren't so lucky.
This is probably TMI but whatever, it's my journal.
I have run out of loo roll. This is bad. I forgot to get some while I was out and now it is cold and I am sleepy and headachey and ready for bed and really NOT wanting to put on three extra layers to run to the shop for loo paper.
BUT it's a very inconvenient time of the month! It's like a train wreck down there! All gore and severed limbs (okay maybe not that last part). And this makes the need for paper more pressing, but also makes the likelihood of me leaving the house again tonight very slim indeed.
I think I'll just wash. Like they did in the days before loo roll. I'm sure, uh, Cleopatra didn't fret because she was a bit gorey. She probably just bathed in goats milk or something. Hmm. We do have some skimmed in the fridge, but I think I'll just stick to soapy water.
In less gross news, I got a haircut today. I am very paranoid about getting haircuts as I find hairdressing salons the most terrifying places on earth. My mum's friend used to cut my hair in my kitchen when I was a kid, so I just don't really know how they work. And then people pull you about and massage your head and TOUCH YOU and UGH. And then how on earth does one tip a hairdresser? I never do, because I don't know if I'm meant to, and I'm sure they always think I'm stingy. And they judge you. "Oh, you don't spend much time on it do you?" they say, tutting. Well, no I don't actually. Because it's just HAIR. Washing the stuff is effort enough. My hair straighteners only come out for weddings and funerals.
ANYWAY, the point I was trying to reach was that this particular trip was fairly untraumatic. They were very chilled out, and gave me tea (I was supposed to get beer but they were obviously fooled by my baby face and I didn't want to embarrass myself by pointing out that I am actually 23 and would quite like some booze now, please) and the hairdresser did her utmost to fix the mess of a mullet-y thing I got last time. Actually, the look on her face was priceless. She even said "I'm not a miracle worker!" and then gamely attempted to make it look less stupid. She was very encouraging too, and told me to be patient and grow it out and it'd all be fine.
Anyway, she gave me a sort of long side fringe to try and make my short layers at the back look a bit longer. It's quite nice, but I'll have to see what happens when I style it myself (by style I mean wash and blast with a hairdryer. None of this weird, blow-straight with brushes malarky, which seems like so much effort, just thinking about it makes me sleepy).
I dyed it darker too. Pictures later, I'm sure.
I am achey in one arm from blood tests and the other arm from tattoos...
I R NEEDLE QUEEN!
To briefly expand on that statement, I got a new tattoo on Sunday. It is lovely and brilliant and I loved getting it so much that I nearly dozed off in a little bliss/pain trance on the bench with my hand flung in the dude's lap while he inked my arm. Yummy. And not too pricey either, so I am happy. My laptop fund is slightly less than impressed, but I decided my need for a new computer was not as pressing as my need for a large, blue-shaded diamond on my left arm. Pictures to follow.
The blood tests (ohsomany) are because my stomach pain that I keep whining about but then ignoring finally kicked my arse on Sunday evening, and I was left in agony, collapsed in a heap on the floor, while my long suffering housemate Bethan brought me codeine (mmmmmmmcodeine) and hot water bottles and things. My stomach looked like I'd swallowed a bowling ball. And I may have gotten very sad about these things. So I went back to the doctor, and she asked about the bowel cancer and the suspected food intolerances and stuff and decided to test me for EVERYTHING EVAR. Which also includes another, less pleasant test, involving certain othe bodily functions. Yeah. GROSS.
Um, yeah. And I'm very, very sleepy. But the third collected graphic novel of Buffy season eight arrived today, so I am going to read that until my eyes glue themselves closed and I HAVE to sleep.
I am ILL and this time it's proper, cold-having ill. I have a sore throat and I am IN MY BED right now. At 9pm. I USUALLY WORK UNTIL NINE. I had to go home to my BED I am that ill. And I am so angry about it that it's inducing capslock issues...
Gah, and I'm supposed to be spending the day with my mum tomorrow and I will not bail on her because she sounded all sad on the phone but I just want to spend the day in my bed... And my computer is misbehaving and wont let me watch the last episode of Merlin and I keep hearing all this stuff that makes me think it was SO GOOD and the capslock has returned so I'm going to go cough and splutter in my bed again.
Body? I hate you so much right now.
I have the flat to myself tonight as Bethan is at a friend's house, so I'm listening to the new Bloc Party album loudly, although not loudly enough to upset my downstairs neighbour Chanel (I hope) who hates her kids getting woken up (she liked them to be well rested for a day of being screamed at).
Anyway, the Bloc Party album, Intimacy is pretty good. Bloc Party are an odd one. Their first album, Silent Alarm made them an integral part of the indie scene, and yet they never really fitted in with the likes of Franz Ferdinand and the Kaiser Chiefs with whom they shared the covers of the NME. Which is probably a good thing, since the last offerings from those two were boring, lager-lout friendly, shouty anthems that sounded like rehashes of Oasis songs, which in turn are just rehashes of Beatles songs.
One thing Bloc Party does not have is chanty lyrics that can be yelled at the top of ones lungs in a Yates bar. "Mercury's in retrograde!" does not have the same instant appeal to the drunken masses as "RubyrubyrubyRUBAAAAAY!". In fact, Bloc Party's penchant for difficult lyrics is both a blessing and a curse. Their songs, often dark in tone, are filled with evocative imagery; Intimacy's "Talon" is a fantastic example of this: I try to stand still so it will not see me/Its talons rake the side of my face ... And when it comes it will feel like a kiss/silent and velvet. Then there are the other Bloc Party lyrics. The ones where some clumsy turn of phrase stops a song dead in its tracks. The worst example on this latest album is the name check of East London on "One Month Off"; When we started this it was paradise, not just Bethnal Green. Maybe it's just because I actually do live in Betty Green, but this line makes me cringe.
That said, Intimacy is by far an improvement, lyrically, on the last album A Weekend in the City, which has some songs that I just can't listen to without wincing. That album introduced a much larger "stadium rock" sound, as the Vice review at the time put it, that I felt cancelled out a lot of what had made the band special. Good news is the enigmatic lyrics and the driving drum beats are back in force on this latest venture. Bloc Party have instead turned to electro dance influences; you may have already heard the single "Flux" (a track that is on the American release of Intimacy but the UK re-release of A Weekend in the City and thus sits sort of between the two albums) which sounds like a dance remix of a Bloc Party track. It seems to me a logical progression, and whilst the raw element that made Silent Alarm an instant, punchy favourite is missing on the more evolved Intimacy, the album is still far more exciting than anything else in the charts at the moment.
America just voted in their first black president. The world just got a little more amazing, and a little less scary.
America? I HEART you!
I should really be in bed, but the BBCs auto-updatey map thingy has me glued to my screen... No, body! Brain says no sleep tonight!