In My Fridge

4 small pots of yogurt
spicy BBQ sauce
almost empty ketchup bottle
soy sauce
1 garlic bulb
half a jar of capers
some stock cubes
a jar with about two tea spoons of raspberry jam
half a jar of Dijon mustard
2 eggs
100 assorted colours of nail polish

New York New York - worth the price?

When I started planning for my summer in New York back in August of 1820 (or that's perhaps only what it feels like and it was more like August 2008) my greatest worry was that I wouldn't get the time off work. The pound was sky high, I was rocketing around the Universe (not because of mediation! or substance abuse!), my creativity was painting rainbows and life couldn't have been more overflowing with possibilities of greatness and adventure and... erm... love.

In October I secured the time off, in January I booked my ticket, and the Universe seemed set on me going there to finally do whatever it is I want to do there. But things that from the beginning are simple and without obstacles can of course change in a New York minute. The pound is worth nothing so no matter how much I manage to save I'll still have less than I though, and there are also other matters that are just not wanting to work out.

I have by no means given up on the idea. I'm being mature and am acknowledging that it might not happen in the end, and have come down from my rocket trip, but I'm still saving money like a capitalist swine and am investing in products (like the Bat Netbook) that are really for my time there. I'm not buying shoes despite having sever withdrawal that makes me spend forever looking at them and even at one point picking them up and petting them in a shop (not sad!), only three books since January (which must be a bloody world record), and generally depriving myself things.

But here comes the question - how healthy is it to deprive myself of life for six months just so that I can live for three? I need a new mascara - can't afford it as budget spent; I need money on my phone - can't afford it as budget spent; I need new jeans (NEED not just want) - can't afford it; I want (yup, surely I must be allowed to want things) Starbucks in the morning - can't afford it as that will make me spend over the allotted £15/wk. In order to stay within the budget, I shouldn't go to lunch with my colleagues, drink coffee bought in a cafe, go to the £5 meditation at Leicester Sq on Saturdays, eat food, have the heating on more than an hour a day or something, go to the cinema, have people over for lunch, visits etc etc. Lucky I'm temporarily not drinking alcohol or that would be another thing gone. Living like that might be great for saving and for me to have a nice time in New York, but I will by no means have a lot of money anyway.

When I return in September, with my massive credit card bill because my savings will only go so far and I want to do things - what's the point otherwise?, I will basically be back in the same position: months of not spending to get rid of debt.

So is it worth it just so that I can live my dream for three months? Is it? I don't know anymore. All I know is that I crave shoes, mascara, face cream, books, shoes, clothes, socks without holes in them, shoes, coffee, days/nights out with friends, shoes - a life!

But since I've started, and have after all booked my ticket, I suppose I'll just trundle on then. I'm not deciding if I'm going until May time. But by then I might be so isolated and anti-social from not seeing anyone because I can't afford to, and gone totally rabid by not talking to anyone (apart from Ivan in work and that's not very helpful!) that I'll be sectioned anyway. Perhaps the better idea is to spend time in the little shed in Somerset and accept that while New York would be cool and so much fun and it would be so fantastic to live a part of my dream, maybe it’s not a necessity. The jury is still out.

screaming kids, meditation and ginseng

You're not allowed to say things to others children, or make faces at them, or help with their general upbringing when they're behaving like bloody brats. No, as a member of the public you just have to smile and be forgiving. But honestly, when I at 7.30 this morning had to listen to a brat screaming the DLR down and demanding that she get my seat I seriously wanted to tell that child to suck it up and learn that you don't get what you want in life and she'd better get used to it. I actually think it would have been my right and, more importantly, duty to help this clearly incapable mother to raise her child to be a useful member of society and not a whimpering snotty pain in the ass. O

bviously to make the kid shut up I offered my seat to it in the end. And the mother had the nerve to say to the kid that a lot of people are grumpy in the morning - hello! I was in a great mood until your ill behaved devil child started having a tantrum. (This happened to me on my flight to New York in August as well, but no way was I going to give up my seat, that I had booked 24 hrs in advance, to some snotty kid. We made friends though, and she held my hand. Kids seem to like me, as does animals, for some strange reason.) (And Cinna, I apologize for defending your stepchild!) But because I'm now meditating again I didn't let the icky child really get to me, just a little evil emanating from my eyes its way, that all.

So yes, am back to my hippie ways and I must say that even though I only stated on Monday evening again I am already feeling an improvement. I can feel my chakras opening up dude, the energy flowing, and I am certainly less tired. (And now I need to get flairs, flowers in my hair, a joint, some acid and off I go...) I think Ginseng is working too - it's meant to make you concentrate better and since concentration difficulties is a by-product of the thing in my life I though I'd try something. However, I realise that I might be more bareable for the people in my life if I'm actually diluted, and a concentrated me might be a little too much. Hmmm. Let's see how I go...

iPod-ed speed

Once upon a time my iPod was a mixture between an iFriend and a PodBoy. Things are different now. Now it's just a damn bastard that deserves to be killed. (I might buy a new one and donate this to Cinna but she doesn't really understand how to use things so it might be pointless.) But I have endured the 50 millionth time of reset and have now filled it with the most angry screaming guitarish teenagey rock I could find on my computer and external drive. And all because I happened to 'fall' over Jimmy Eat World's new album over the weekend. Oops. (edit - turned out be rather pants so lucky it was 'free'.) That and the fact that I went for a run after work and realised that if I'm ever going to get back to where I used to be I'm going to plug my ears with the pules that runs through my body.

So I need to get back to my former glory. And I'm not just talking about running, but I'm talking about ribs, a chest like Gav's -i.e pert but with slightly larger breasts (or quite a lot larger - about a hand full), tiny H&M trouser that don't need to squeezed into but rather hang of hips. Hips where hipbones are actually protruding and not hidden in blubber. Hipbones that are screaming out for a tattoo. What happened? Actually I know what happened and I don't want to go there.

I have 5 weeks before I stand in front of my mother's scrutinising eyes. She told me when I saw her in July that I was fat. Now I'm not an expert but I would not recommend telling someone who self-purge one day and starves the next only to then gorge the following (what can I say - could never make up my mind to which was the best one - mix and match) that she is fat. But what do I know.

Now, not only do I have to ensure that my mother shuts up when I see her, but I also need to get fast. And this is not really about being skinny. It's about the fact that I'm in such a crap shape. I used to run mile upon mile without a problem but now it's like fighting the tide or something. It's frustrating. Not even looking at the nice asses (because a) I like a nice ass on a man and b) I had enough of assless men after my last one) of the very good looking men (remembering that I believe flirting in the gym is wrong) makes me go faster. Andrei and I agreed to do a 10k after Christmas but that's fun run, what's the point? Besides, he's legs are like 5 meters so no way can I keep up.

My posture is fantastic as the moment, thanks to medde, and my breathing is good and striding too, so I just need to get the speed and stamina back. Just. Right...

So it is what it is. And with the iFriend reset, filled to the brim with my favourite rock... I'm running that bastard marathon in less than 4 and a half hours! And I will have ribs and slinky hips again! Just watch me!

Pornography

My pornography that is. One of my favourite things. Shoes.

On my way to meet a friend after work this evening I happened to walk past Schuh. And I just had to go in for just a second. And as I looked around, with no intention to touch or to buy, I though to myself if I don't go to New York I can buy a hell of a lot of shoes. Which last longer, shoes or New York?

I mean just look at this!!! How can I go on living without owning this beautiful peace of art? What is 2.5 months in NYC when I could walk around in rainy Londres in these? Who cares about my writing if I have shoes like these?




Also have to have







Any many many more.

Is my need for shoes more important that my need to go to New York to live as a writer? Tricky tricky tricky!

American Dream

So... Mike and I discussed ways I could make some cash for my time in New York(that didn't include the second job I am now considering taking up) and thought why not ask my dear friends to donate a pound or two. Being bored (work - me spreadsheets filled with completion rates and highest qualification on entry stats, Mike scholarships), I did a quick draft that Mike completed and I then sent out to my dear friends as an experiment and to celebrate my good fortune. We also set up a group on Facebook. Now, it seems it wasn't appreciated, me asking for donations, by quite a few. It seems to be ok to raise money so that you can go gallivanting across the Gobi desert, or climbing a rock in some mounting but not this. But I wonder, is it really any different? Is the text below offensive? And how do I set up a PayPal account so the people who actually do love me can give me a quid?????

Friends and Charitable Strangers

Once in every person's life, there comes a time for dreams to be fulfilled. Some of us grow up wishing to be astronauts, princesses or dinosaurs. Some of us feel an overwhelming drive to become and artist or a footballer or a town crier. Some dreams are more worthy than others; some dreams can come true.

There are few things in life more rewarding that helping another person to fulfil a dream, making the remote and the impossible achievable, with nothing more that a little kindness or support. You have the chance to make someone's dream come true.

You are lucky enough to know (perhaps even like) someone who has identified her dream, and is working to make it a reality. Anna has always been a writer, but now she wants to take the next step in the completion of her ambitions, and become, for a while a writer in New York. She plans to embrace the bohemian life of the Big Apple, possibly even adopting a bad French accent and a tiny hat. She will eat food from street vendors, and hail taxis in a flamboyant manner. She will immerse herself in the writing opportunities, and finally finish the novel and stories she has been polishing and editing for years.

She has ached for this chance for many years, and this summer has managed to arrange 12 weeks away from her job to travel.

The only thing holding her back now is the wretched practicability of life. With an over-priced mortgage, student debt, and no savings, a bad knee, and a bit of a cold, she is a needy case, looking up at you, in your warm coat, like a lonely puppy, tied to a lamp-post, eyes as big and deep and brown as your favourite type of coffee.

A recommended donation of £10 - or whatever you can afford - would help Anna get her life's dream up and running. £5 will feed a starving artist for a day. £20 will pay for a cigarette holder of enormous length and elegance. £100 will pay for an extensive fishing course and equipment, so that Anna can feed herself from the rich waters of the Hudson.

Anna appreciates your generosity, and knows that this is a very cheeky request, so would like to assure any givers that this would be a memorable and productive cause. She hopes to arrange an evening of drinks and merriment before she leaves, as a way of thanking her supporting and good-looking friends. She also promises to sign copies of her book for all purchasers.

Please, take this chance to make a friend's life a whole lot better, at almost no cost to yourself. Help Anna to spend 12 weeks working hard, sucking the marrow out of the bones of life, and hopefully being happier than any human being has much right to be. Go on - be the person who does a nice thing just like that, and then give yourself a pat on the back.

Mr Mike Rose-Steel - philosopher, poet, scholar

Anna's Ramblings, the sequel

So, after having kept my mouth shut for what feels like forever it's now time to reopen the ramblings. Not because I have important things to say, because I never had, but because I miss going on and on and on about shoes, and my knee, and cockpossums, and running and debauchery, and shoes, and all sorts. Aren't you all lucky?!

And also because I'm about to embark on my dream - I'm going to New York to be a writer for 10-12 weeks! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek, the excitment! Though just had a conversation with Sneaky Sneak (who no longer is a sneak of course), and we all know that self will most likely hang around doing not much most of the time. That and doing her best to charm the emotionally retarded.

Joking aside, she will finish her god damn novel and get a god damn publisher and god damn it!

For the record, to my previous readers, I'm not the same moany black bitchy person I used to be. I'm one of those happy people with nothing to complain about. Which will make me a bad writer so after the conversation had with S, I am now taking up smoking and drinking again (what a super bad idea to give it up in the first place!) and getting out the rusty razor for some artful tracing. I still remember how to do all these things. Lucky me.