My Recent Happiness Triggers

Posted: February 11, 2011 in Uncategorized

1. The softness of a faux-fur coat when you get it back from the dry-cleaners

2. Discovering they sell six-packs of 330ml glass bottles of Diet Coke in Waitrose. Fuck cans, fuck plastic bottles. This shit is DIVINE.  The taste is superior. Yes. you drink it from the bottle, bitch. Every self-respecting Diet Coke addict knows you decarbonate the magic potion if you put it in a glass. However you pour it.

3. My little trip to Oxford.

4. Mrs. Crimble’s cheese bites. The Zeus of all snacks.

5. New shoes from Office (on sale=only 25 quid!) Bit kitsch, but hey, I pull them off. Bad taste can be alluring at times, trust me on this one.

6. Attending all (but one) of my lectures this week. Never ever has this happened before!

7. Not pissing off a single human being this week. Legendary.

 

 

 

Do You Remember The First Time?

Posted: February 11, 2011 in Uncategorized

I like to spend my afternoons distastefully. Casually sitting on an unmade single bed, smoking my 6th Marlboro Light behind a veil of messy, rain and wind infested hair. Reading superficial magazines for the sake of keeping my mind at home. Then organizing a caffeine marathon in my central nervous system and inviting all my worries to compete in it.

As I was going through this process yesterday, a glossy magazine article bitch-slapped my delirium with its title.

Do you remember the first time? was what it was.

The article was about a new music duo who like to call themselves Summer Camp, but I never engaged in reading it.

I remained firmly attached to the sentiment in the title.

Do you remember the first time? The first time ever.

The first time you learnt to derive pleasure from good food, not just physical energy.

The first time you burnt your tongue with hot chocolate.

The first time you saw a blooming garden and your mother told you these pretty things were called “flowers”.

The first time you took a walk alone to find inner peace, not to get somewhere.

The first time you heard change bouncing in your wallet.

The first time you burnt obscure music on a CD.

The first time you enjoyed pillow fights.

The first time you put up pretentious posters in your room.

The first time you got shampoo in your eye.

The first time you switched off your cellphone.

The first time someone saw you naked.

The first time you photoshoped a picture.

The first time you created something. Anything.

And the first time you destroyed it.

As a person of many past, present, baffling, consuming, obsessive-compulsive habits, it amazes me how everything I consider an unbreakable pattern has started off with a single “first time”.

And each first created an entire new universe to get sucked in.

Like tiny seeds that grow into a garden of black orchids.

Every novelty you pursue creates a new place to belong to.

Every first builds a little house for you to visit when you’re lonely and searching for answers.

This is your eternal home. The neighborhood of metaphorical houses each first has built for you throughout your life.

Some people prefer to call that neighborhood experience.

Or even worse – memories.

But that sounds degrading. And kind of temporary. Short-lived and forgettable.

Nah.

Your past is a permanent, indestructible map of you  . It lives till you stop living. It moves with you. It rests with you.

It adjusts to you.

Contrary to popular belief, it does not prevent your ultimate future from happening.

It enables it.

When I was younger, fatter and makeupless, I used to spend my quiet Sunday evenings bitching about men.  I’ve bitched so much I could have put Heat magazine out of business. Life was like a Kelis song, except my yard was empty. “Oh, men don’t know what they want.” “Oh, why did he use me?” “Why the sudden display of apathy” “It can’t possibly be my crazy ass, can it?” “I HATE HIM SO MUCH RIGHT NOW!” “I’m going to bed with my cell phone in case he has an epiphany and/or drunk dials”


Years have passed and be it with the help of observing the same Homo erectus for two years (still going strong…) or with the help of my little stroll through functional alcoholism and strip clubs, I’ve discovered a few things that were not visible through the Carrie Bradshaw prism. They are not revolutionary and by no means helpful if your aim in life is to marry a footballer, or any man, really. But they’re knowledge. Knowledge is power and power is fun.

  1. Every man, regardless of socioeconomic status, weight or height parameters, has a little voice inside his head whispering “You, my boy, can/will shag/date a perfect 10 one day”. God knows he can be a -3 on the attractiveness scale and he’ll still believe this. Go to Burger King, hunt down the Customer of the Year, dig his head out of his belly and he’ll nod in agreement, triple chin and all. You see, if I had spent half of my life performing politically incorrect activities on Teagan Presley’s face in my mind, I’d be confused too. I would think I can attain a show-stopper, whether I looked like Johnny Depp or freaking Gollum.

    If he can do it => they all can. Yeah?

  2. Men who have sex frequently (and more importantly – with a multitude of attractive women) before the age of 20 tend to be less ambitious than those who don’t. We can even stretch this to “before finishing university” though not necessarily. To put it another way, if a man is still living off student loans or his parents and manages to pull a different cheerleader each night he goes out, he ain’t gonna be in a hurry to push Mark Zuckerberg off the World’s Youngest Billionaires chart.  Just sayin’.
  3. Then why are some men so driven to succeed in their careers? Same reason women wear killer heels, survive on lettuce and live through waxing. To outstage people from the same sex and seduce people from the opposite. Simple.
  4. Why didn’t he call you? LOL. He didn’t want to. I don’t care if he’s your boyfriend, your one-night stand, your fiancé, the taxi man, your landlord or the nerd fixing your laptop. If a man doesn’t call, it’s because he doesn’t want to. Or he forgot. And he forgot because he doesn’t want to call you. You calling him ain’t gonna change that.
  5. Shag a man too soon or wait too long and you’re officially irrelevant.
  6. Men are easy to get and hard to keep. Because despite what Rihanna wants, nobody’s the only girl in the world. There are plenty more out there and men like exploring. Men like variety.  So keep on evolving, keep on changing, let there be progress in your life and looks. Don’t get stuck in a rut so that your relationship doesn’t get there too. Nobody wants the same thing, all the time, unless we’re speaking of heroin addicts.
  7. Don’t get jealous of the Xbox. The more time he spends on COD, the less time he’ll have to ogle other women. Cherish that Xbox and praise the control pads for as they say, “idle hands are the devil’s playground”
  8. And all straight men ogle (other) women. I don’t care if he’s posting Bruno Mars lyrics on your Facebook wall. Throw a grenade at the mofo and if a remotely attractive woman is passing by at the same time, he won’t be catching that grenade for ya. He’ll be looking at her ass, measuring it against her waist, acknowledging her bra size and taking her legs into account. Oh, and her face. You know that Meat Loaf song? I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)? Millions of people throughout time have wondered what it is exactly that Meat Loaf won’t do. The search for truth is over. Good ol’ Loaf was simply stating a universal fact about men – they’d do anything but stop ogling women. Like, they’d settle down in a relationship with you, they’d hold your hair after a “night out with the girlies” while you’re projectile-praying to the porcelain god in the bathroom, they’d even step a foot in the kitchen and make you a sandwich. Hell, he’d sooner use one of his kidneys as Christmas decoration than stop ogling.
  9. Or stop watching porn. He ain’t doing that either. He’ll be stroking his miserable wand to the sight of plastic whores with a drug problem and daddy issues. Until. The end. Of time. Have you wondered why when you click “History” on his internet browser, nothing ever, ever shows up? No, he’s not buying you an engagement ring online. Nope. He’s not.

    That Teagan Presley I mentioned earlier. A rare shot with clothes on.

  10. As much as I hate the topic, when it comes to the “stroking of the wand”, non-porn related, have you spent your life thinking that your boyfriends thought of you while “stroking” it (god, I’m gonna chunder)? Yeah? No. Just no. When you have chocolate brownie ice cream in the fridge, do you fantasize about it? No, you just go and finish it, then you fantasize how wonderful it would be to have cookie dough afterwards too.
  11. When it comes to one-night stands, less attractive chicks are generally used for blow jobs and fitter ones – for intercourse. Not a rule, but a tendency.
  12. When alone with a man, practice instant “unfucking up”. Let’s make it clear….We all know women are insane. All of them/us. Personally, I’m way ahead of most on the mental front. It has taken me years to get to this stage, it’s an achievement in itself and I don’t like competition. But I’ve never met a sane woman. See, you can be batshit crazy, Interpol can be searching for you on accounts of bank robbery, but when you enter through the door of a man’s flat, you leave that shit on the doorstep. A man will agree to carry your grocery bags for hours but he won’t hold your mental baggage even for a second.  He has his own.

    Unfuck up already.

  13. If you think you look fat in an outfit, you’re probably right. Asking a man “Do I look fat in this outfit?” will only point it out.
  14. There was this quote…. “I swear, by my life and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.” In other words: get a life. Besides your boyfriend or that guy you’re stalking. Every minute, be it in New York, Paris or Baghdad, a girl gets dumped for being needy.
  15. If you talk to a single man for long enough (and he’s not part of your friend circle  or family), you will get blamed for flirting and leading him on. Generally, when a female speaks to a man without shouting and smiles while doing so, god forbid – touches his elbow, there is a part in that man’s brain that will go “Check you out, you irresistible heartthrob, she totally wants you”. You can have a boyfriend, a husband or be openly celibate. That part of his brain won’t care. That’s probably the kind of misunderstanding that triggered the world’s first rape. Ever invited a guy after a night out back to your house just for the sake of more drinks and continuing that conversation about that Fellini film that you started in the smoking section? Ha-ha-ha. By the time you’re at your house you’d have found out he never watched the bloody film and up to this day thought Fellini was some kind of washing powder. To put it another way, as the notorious douche Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino once declared, “don’t come over at somebody’s house at fucking 5 a.m. and expect to play checkers.” Don’t invite single men to your house when you yourself are not single or are simply not interested. You’ll turn around for a second and before you know it, he’d have helicoptered his private parts in the middle of your living room. Of course, there are also the polite ones who’ll keep the conversation alive even after realizing you’re not going to sleep with them, but they’ll hope there is a special place in Hell for you, while nodding the drunken snooze fest away.

That’s it for now. It’s all a joke and at the same time, it really isn’t.

Peace.

Things I believe in:

Posted: January 6, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

1. Beauty

2. Madness

3. Excess

4. Beauty to the point of mad, mad excess

I am just a student… I shop A LOT, but only from the high street. If I could afford designer, this is what I would buy myself for Christmas i-m-m-e-d-i-a-t-e-l-y:

Proenza Schouler shorts with leather pockets

Stella McCartney silk thigh-high boots

Alexander McQueen skull-print scarf

Chloé cat-eye sunglasses

Alexander McQueen wing-detail ankle boots

leopard print Louboutins

Miu Miu tote bag

Proenza Schouler high-rise skinny jeans

D&G black chiffon blouse

Roberto Cavalli Lurex leopard-print blouse

Roberto Cavalli wool coat

There is something about Alexa Chung.

Something I really dislike.

The only description of her I fully agree with is “clothes horse de jour” , promptly put by FHM.

Open a women’s magazine and the story’s entirely different. The young Brit is WORSHIPED by women of all backgrounds and sizes. There should be an entire encyclopedia focused on Alexa’s choice of outerwear ’cause it seems the 79 currently published women’s magazines around the globe are not enough! The brogues Miss Chung is sporting today are more important than your wedding day and if one day your funeral coincides with the launch of her new TV programme, you better know which event your female friends will attend…

As you’re entitled to know, there is a Mulberry bag named after her, with a clutch and “weekend” version. In fact, the British brand reported 79% increase in sales after the launch of the Alexa bag. Too bad if you don’t want to spend 700 quid on a satchel ’cause everyone else is already wearing and loving it!

Agyness Deyn wearing the Alexa

Florence Welch wearing the Alexa

Daisy Lowe wearing the Alexa

Alexa wearing the Alexa

The wonders of Alexa do not end with a bag… Last year, the contemporary “It” girl took up smoking after visiting Paris, maybe in an attempt to reach the French level of effortless chic and glamour. Oh, gimme a break… Bitch can get lung cancer if she wants to, but she’ll never be anything more than a tall 12 year old boy with long facial features, wearing couture. She lacks allure, she lacks that oomph-factor…And not trying to sound like a man (most of the time I think like a man), but she lacks sexiness. She admits it! She not only lacks it but dislikes it or as she puts it,  ” the brash lads magazines version of it”

Ah, I hate Alexa Chung. I hate her face and skeleton figure, but the world seems to love her and surely that’s more important.

Here are the 2010 Alexa outfit combos I approve of:

It ain’t that bad, our clothes horse de jour.

What’s the point in keeping track of time if you can’t skip forward?

Here I am, early December, already dusting off my New Year’s shoes.  As the dust falls off and leaves me coughing, I try to remember where this dust came from. Dust is eternal, omnipresent and omnimorphic.  Why did it choose to walk in my shoes and where was it planning to go?

I’ve been all over the place this past year. I say “I”, but as it usually happens with me, I’ve managed to be born as and to decease as a hundred different people in the spectrum of 365 days.

Sometimes I feel the only factor that unites my multiple personalities and keeps them going as a wholesome creation is not the wheel of life, but the wheel of fashion. It feeds my alter egos for it’s an illusion and it is only illusion that they all can handle for  breakfast.

It’s too early for New Year’s resolutions, but it’s an appropriate time to share my favourite 2010 fashion highlights.

Big Hair. Backcombing. Beehives.

Louis Vuitton Autumn/Winter 2010 going all Mad Men like

Kate Moss as the face of the Isabel Marant Fall 2010 campaign

Long socks were everywhere on the runway. I am a BIG fan.

The whole animal print trend

Cat Eye sunglasses. ❤

Boobs making a comeback on the runway (and long gloves...long gloves are cool too)

 

On the other hand, I am completely sick of:

The whole shearling jacket trend

The Spring 2010 harem trousers trend. Why do people still wear them?

Geek glasses. Enough already!