Go-ogling
What I have discovered is fun is googling yourself. I found a female impersonator called Evey Forrest who has lots of pictures of herself doing miss gay marciano or somesuch competition. Looking lovely. Good on you, girl, strut it.
To Blackpool Dear Friends...And Buy Me A Hat..
I'm going to blackpool on saturday, mostly by force of my family who've never really gotten over the fact that Butlins didn't quite touch me in my special place - the void most people find filled with a heart. On t'upside I'm free of cardiac problems. Anyways, I always did like a good bit of tat, and I'm hoping to find it in abundance in Britain's answer to Vegas. Of course Vegas does have a touch of class about it which I'm afraid Blackpool can't even drunkenly snigger and say but does have saucy postcards, silly hats, rock and candyfloss so I'm sure the average holidaymaker would say " Let t'Yanks keep their fancy Vegas, we've got the Tower and Peter Kay, we're smashing." I say average, I really am going for as simple as can be. But a damning indictment of the average Briton holidaymaker is saved for later. Or not at all cos it's just not that interesting. Either way, I don't know if any of you know ut there were these cool touristy type thingies that I bought a few years back in Cornwall, Devon, places of that nature. Toffee making places. They were called something like Daisy's Doos and the toffee was shaped to look like a giant cow turd and then some paper was shredded up and painted green to look like grass and I never ate one but they looked really nice while being very convincing cow turds. I'm hoping to buy a snowglobe, maybe some chocolate or toffee, maybe a novelty tower if anyone gives me money to go on holiday which is unlikely though I can alwasy beg borrow or steal. Im not a slots or a gambling sort of woman, not at all in honesty, i find it all a bit beneath me ( snob alert, please commence toff laugh, bad haircut and slight smell of rotten fish hors d'oeuvres NOW). But I am in essence a BRITISH person. Thus, the candy floss, freezing cold seaside, hard sweets, tooth decay, seasonal proletariatness, novelty behattedness and of couse the great British institution Pick 'N' Mix lives truly within my heart. It'll probably be freezing knowing my luck. I'll have to pack the larger of my vaguely mini-metaller type hoodies. I'll no doubt enjoy the novelty of the Pepsi Max and other somesuch rollercoasters. I'll no doubt eat chips with more grease than your average hair gel factory and get some ( vomits) colour in my cheeks. It'll be synthetic and no doubt an allergic reaction to some offensively saucy rock but who am I if not a Brit on my hols. Wish me candy floss and dreams come true.
Aaaaah... The Penny Drops!!
This isn't me by the way, for a start, I'm a girl. This is a picture of a pocket protector which will make sense later. Hello, I had another blog but I got bored of whining and just decided to do a blog about things I like and things I wanna talk about, instead of moaning. Though anyone who's seen my previous blog then http;//www.twentiessuitcase.blogspot.com is still a laugh. Really, it brings a tear of malevolent joy to my eye at any rate - haha pathetic little gobshite. Short but sweet, this blog, apart from the previous comment but everyone's got a blog these days. But, liking to think myself as a rebel without a cause ( which is bollocks really, i own a pair of converse and i drink coca cola, i'm as big a brand whore as everyone else. I agree with House, excellent Hugh Laurie medical drama where he said the only real rebels are the ones who are uncool by birth. "Get a medical degree, a clipboard and a pocket protector" if you want to be a rebel. Not sure what a pocket protector is though, i don't imagine it's a tiny borrower figure who lives in jeans and jackets with a sword waiting for the signal for the Big Push. Well, actually, supposedly nerds have them so they wouldn't so much have swords as a taser and a long PVC jacket. Possibly an impossible small waist coupled with child-bearing hips as if giving birth to augustus gloop and breasts containing enough milk to feed augustus gloop. So not so much breasts as udders. You know what I MEAN though.) I like to get into stuff about six months after everyone else. That way, you've got access to it in a shop without crowds, all the wannabes have moved on and all you've got left are the die-hards to speak to. And I do love a bit of die-hard fanatic in the morning. PS. If you do love a bit of fanatic, go out with a comic book geek like me. They're great. Except technically you're an infidel. But doesn't that word sound kinda sexy without the mad anti-Western civilization connotations. Oooh, say it again. Specially if Jeremy Paxman has got a hold of it. Woof.
Feel Free to Come to My House, Mister Laurie?
Hmm, where to begin on the great unfathomably good House? Is it the wonderment that it's still great even after all these months of having the exact same plot for every single episode? That it's Hugh Laurie with his damned sexiness and managing to sound upper class toff-boy while doing a very convincing American accent, Lord knows how? The super writing that makes me laugh all hour long and ps. I don't laugh. Is it the fact that all the characters are strangely rounded which is rare for supportings in a medical drama? Perhaps though its the strange and brilliant way in which I've warmed to House and his attendings and thus, even the most mundane event or occurence has me gripped to my seat ( ps, nearly died of suspense during House and Cameron's date. I believe my boyfriend still has the nail marks on his arm to prove it.) I'm afraid I can't actually indicate what it is I love so much about it, only that I love it. It's joining a very elite group of television series which have achieved the title of " Beth Is Not To Be Disturbed During This Particular Hour Of The Week" which people actually know to obey. These include Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Angel, Dead Like Me, and QI. It's one thing to find a television programme which you like. It's another to find a programme or indeed, a book, a film or anything else which actually makes you happy during it. I base my week around it, probably a little sad to the outsider but not at all to me because I have something tangible to look forward to. Whenever we look down at people with odd little quirks or obsessions, really all that needs to be considered is whether or not it sustains them and makes them happy. Let's face it, life never turns out the way any of us wants it to. And thats why radio and television have survived after the initial ok-now-what-do-we-do-now-we've-got-it? phase. They're coping mechanisms for an imperfect world. I love House also because he is so flawed. He is acidic, offensive, withdrawn and outspoken. In short, he is exactly like me. Except he goes the extra mile, because where others feel the need to apologise for who they are, House doesn't do that. He is damaged but he is like Linda Evangelista's face in that it is a marvellous mesh of imperfections. The nose a little long, the mouth a little wide, the face that photographs better with an open mouth and slightly open eyes. And yet it makes such a beautiful whole that it is a tribute to the sum of its parts. I love House because I care about House and his damaged world and his strange views. I hope to be exactly like him. And until then, my Thursday's lookin' a whole lot better than yours.
Job hunt
Cheer Up Sleepy Jean - kind of ironic those lyrics ( which I happen to adore, Daydream Believer being my favourite song of all time which I am adamant on having played at my wedding. Not that I'm sad and have given oodles of thought to that long-distant occasion, just that that's how much I love it that I want it played on what's sposed to be one of Those Days... in a good way). At the moment, my bank balance needs some serious cheering up to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen. Though my bank account isn't so much a homecoming queen as the fat wallflower who's perenially ignored. Though with the advent of my oncoming job hunt, I'm hoping she'll shed the weight, get her gladrags on and introduce herself with a bang at the annual Shareholders Meeting. I am desperate to find a job. Though I would like to involve something deeply interesting like post-senior citizen makeup artist and stylist ( thats the dead persons dresser to you and me even though I said it). Or I don't know, anything, anything for money. Within reason. I'm not resorting to prostitution, joining the BNP or killing off close relatives in some Kind Hearts and Coronets style fashion. If I'm honest, I'd love to work in Borders or Waterstones more than anything else. Or Smiths, somewhere where I had daily exposure to books. Failing that, somewhere where my discount would come in handy. Like River Island for that damn fine tailcoat or New Look or Topshop or something. Failing that, somewhere where I didn't have to sit immobile on the tills so behind the scenes in a warehouse in Tesco or something. I'm beginning my hunt tomorrow, I am so desperate to get it, I dont know when my EMA ( or lazy kids being paid to go to school for the average layman) is going to come through. I can live with not being able to go to town when I please or buy whatever I want but it's coming up to Christmas and I like to treat my family at Christmas. Its a time of year that although being more commercialised than Disney, still makes you happy and want the novelty pen and to see the parade even though you know it's bitter drop outs who couldn't get jobs anywhere other than donning a monkey suit and signing autographs. Excellent. Bitter and cynial humbug at Christmastime? Not on my watch.
