missbeatrice

No.

No.

FFS.

xxx

why is moving house always such a gloomy thing? I want to leave my current flat, i like the new one but still i find the process sad-making.

... is frickin hot. x

Leeds leeds leeds - woop! :) I'm so releived to be getting away from all of the crazies and to go running about in the hilly lands, see my nice ladies, with the sanity and the affection and all. *sigh* Happy times xxx ps) Watchmen - so bad, i havent the words. 'forgive me carol' ahahahaha. x

... How have i never seen a band here before?! So very pretty, not least because of the christmas trees. In brief; last minute tickets to a sold out Tindersticks gig, a ton of whisky, a hundred cigarettes, creeping around in the alleyways being a scoundrel with Zoe, sitting in pews ( one naturally sits with hands clasped on the little ledge in front of you. laksjda. Is it not false worship and therefore odd of a church to endorse this, skipping about where the alter should be... oops! ) a dreamy rendition of my oblivion, me melting... *sigh* xxxx

Went to see Leonard again! He was far more sombre this time, but still i love him, dapper old fool that he is. xxx

Such is my life. Said comrade being none other than Miss Hattie, former partner in communist bbq action (Comrades! Bring yr credit cards! Gotta love SWS)and kitten whispering mastermind. Having lately purchased her own pole to practise on, Missy H seems well on the way to producing some kind of fusion economic erotica. Not that it wasnt already fairly hot but, well, i realise thats a specific kind of late night entertainment, which is a shame. I feel sure that Soho could only benefit from the kinda club where boys in stained raincoats could pay girls to sit on their laps and talk about such things. *sigh* I like to think that hannah might dress up as Mr Marx and do her dances around a giant hammer. Anyways, it was her birthday, there were peppermint cupcakes and spag bol and buffy and belly dancing jewelry (she is also developing gothic belly dancing to a sixteen horsepowere soundtrack )and then being woken up at 6.30 this morning so we could watch a little play-dough animation about two kittens. She is a delightful guest. :)

Other than that things are improving, body-shakin-rage is decreasing, the sun has come out, i can kind breath through my nose and i've already had 3 coffees. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. :) xxx

the weather is terrible, its grey and spitty, its swolen and depressing. My house smells of mushrooms - that cant be good. I have to get a eveing job to clear debts, which means working 14 hours days for three months. Jeepers. However, my friend is coming to stay this weekend and we will eat eggy bread and complain about ourselves and validate on another. its nice. xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sherlock Holmes. Because he is hot. xx

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Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I complain to my friend about the lack of love in the world. She tells me to go on a dating website, i say no, she says yes, so i look and i am more depressed than ever now. It looks very much like an argos catalogue - lists of photos, lists of dull descriptions, Manky. And very much not for me - i shall hold out for the lingering, lined look in the library etc. GODDAAAMMMMMIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTT.

FFS.

(Smile - yr going to leeds to play soon! Try not to become entirely engulfed in blah before then. )x

Oh i am so very bored at work already, having been here but 13 minutes. What i would like most today is to be in bed... in my frickin charcoal sheets. x

Another reason to hate the bally internet - i ordered what i believed to be a lovely set of black bedding, nighty, inky, sobbing-thru-the-summer-listening-to-the-smiths black. They turned up and

a) Are not black - rather they are a dark grey! Rediculous! I cant goth out on that, tis not appropriate. Tsk

b) Are marked by the absence of a sheet. FFS :(

This is not meant to happen. I am meant to be preparing to snuggle into my angst tonight, it was meant to be like being in the sky or something. Now it will be like being in the tailored pocket of an acountant. But without the blessed salvation of pinstripes. GRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

So, because the world seems intent on preventing me from being allowed to remain in this underdeveloped state of rage for another 27 years, i have accepted my status as an olden, crotchety type and written a stroppy 'dissatisfied, east london' style email. I expect them to apologise and offer me lots of gothic house things to make me happier, such as black bath towels AND A FRICKIN SHEET. A grey sheet, i suspect. GFDIhoasjh[fklnasklf. Bally internet. :(

I am currently beavering away (post regression into rage and hate-up-to-the-neck style stropping about selfish people and spineless boys and generally still being punished for other people's lack of genuine social skills...ahem.... ) on an entry for the asham writing award. I feel the link with Ms Woolfe will be of use to me, i shall channel her good will and kick the hell out of it all. I decided, yesterday, while drinking too much coffee in central with Kitty Kat, that i am too obsessed with the people in my life, with misguided attempts at saving them, when in reality i cant and they dont want me too. For all of the exhausting ways i try to be of use, nothing changes, i rarely save anyone ( theres no one you can save that cant be saved, as the phrase goes ) and i become an exhausted 27 year old lady who has rarely done anything just for herself. Not because people ask too much of me you understand, but because i run around busying myself with the worrying about everyone and everything because i dont really want to save myself, because i dont want to enter competitions or do my masters because i am afraid to fail blah blah blah. Small life, a large portion of it already gone and i want to have atleast *tried* to step up a little. So, i shall try to win a prize. And then another. And so on and so forth, until i am well enough and pleased enough with myself to be of genuine use to the people i love. Because i do so want to help, but i suppose its a little blind-leading-the-blind at present. I do not deserve the faith that has been put in me, i shall work to earn it.

( Fun things - a beer festival at the weekend with my old friends and lots of men in beards and cable knit- yay, an upcoming trip to leeds to dance around with pretty boys in eyeliner, all of this writing nonsence and associated fantasies about living the lit high life and making writing into a cool, sexy profession again (an aside, it is not so anymore, nobody will look back in twenty years time and feel compelled to have a life style party based around mckewan or a desire to dress like Zadie Smith or fuck like Andrew motion.... bah,), BATMANINTHEFRICKINIMAX! joaksjopdkjpaksjdkjpkjpakf :), Negotiating with housemate to be allowed to have a hamster (because we cannot have a kitty and dont have enough room for rats, so i though that a hamster would be a good thing.... she does not feel the same....), thinking about taking a little holiday, a cheap little holiday - any ideas?

xxxxxx

When I think of something horrible, a worse case scenario or a loss or something similar, I touch my forehead with crossed fingers. When i am anxious, i do it more regularly, to try and ward off any badness, i guess. I didnt realise it until fairly recently, im trying to tone it down as i think it actually increases my anxiety in the long run.....

xxxx

Ah. So, after many, many years of obsessive love, I have finally seen Leonard Cohen. It was a wonderful evening, Leonard was alarmingly spry for his 75 years, sprinting on and off stage and dancing around. He played a longer set than many of the whippersnappers I have seen of late could manage, was intensely charismatic and very dapper in his suit and hat. Those of you who know me well will know that I am a fan of the suited gent, and now I stand before my scruffy peers and snarl ‘if a 75 yr old man can manage it, you sure as hell can.’ Godammit. Learn already. I attended said religious experience with my dear friend Hattie, long term partner in Leonard love and newly appointed political svengali – t’was a delight in every sense of the word. Hi-lights for me were Boogie Street, Leonards dreamy recital of 1000 kisses deep, the future and closing time. Good health to you Leonard! 

Last week also saw my attendance of The Brian Jonestown Massacre at the Forum. Shambolic as ever, I found myself getting a little bit annoyed at their complete disregard for any semblance of professionalism – yes, I know, we love The BJM *because* they are a chaotic live presence, because they are real and messy and aggressive. But, as one of my companions for the evening pointed out, it doesn’t actually seem all that real anymore, it seems (to quote him) ‘ a little but wwf.’ Post ‘DIG!’ I suppose people go to see them in the hope that Anton will kick off, they go for the spectacle of that and one has to wonder, aware of this as they must be, how much of the continued aggro is a nod in the direction of their own infamy in that context, rather than a genuine expression of their front mans rage. At one point, he screamed at one of the many guitarists for messing up a song, named the guys other band and their new album and told everyone not to buy it because he is a terrible musician. I think it likely that anyone would have walked off at that point, unless they are a hired session musician and nothing more. He didn’t walk off, leaving me to think they are not so much a band as one shouting man and his hired and therefore thick-skinned backing musicians. Shame really. However, when they actually managed to play any songs, they were tight and sounded good, tho to be honest Anton’s voice wasn’t that hot – Nevertheless was probably my favourite of the night.

Other news:
• Possibly going to see the Shortwave set and attending my favourite indie disco on Saturday – yay!
• Have been to Finland to witness my friends get wed – lovely, lovely, lovely and featuring a reading of Nick Cave’s ‘there is a kingdom’ *sigh* Finland is beautiful, green and woody and clean, I saw a moose, stayed in a time warped 1970s-esque hotel – my room was a symphony of brown patchwork, wicker, fake bonsai trees and lime green light fittings, needless to say I bally loved it. Yay weddings, I love em so. This on was partix visually striking, she wore a traditional linen finish dress and he wore a kilt! The reception took place in a beautiful barn wherein we danced about to Fleetwood mac and Justin Timberlake until the early hours of the morning. I then went clubbing and danced about to euro disco, my favourite track of which featured 6 minutes of a man screaming ‘blow yr whistle bitch!’ over a 90s’esque synth beat, nice. Thoroughly drunk and dishevelled I crawled home at 6 the next morning with my companion for the night, mike, who had to stop me from befriending some random fire eaters who were running around the park. Oops.
• My family hate me again. *yawns* Fine, got that already, I just wonder why they feel it so necessary to keep telling everyone about it?!
• I’m cat sitting for a silver-grey tabby who is the cuddliest kitty ever, its dreamy.
• I took my fried to the Huntarian museum – always a pleasure, faces in jars!
• Off to Leeds very soon for gothic cuddles and d.i.s.c.o – hooray!
• I am considering doing my Masters at Goldsmiths in London town. Niiiice.
• I went to see the new pixar movie, as ever, awwwwww. Alarming amount of Mac Advertising tho, but being a mac-whore myself I suppose I shouldn’t complain.

Laters.

liberated from Pinkcharlie
You know how sometimes people on your friend's list post about stuff going on in their life, and all of a sudden you think "Wait a minute? Since when are they working THERE? Since when are they dating HIM/HER? since when???" And then you wonder how you could have missed all that seemingly pretty standard information, but somehow you feel too ashamed to ask for clarification because it seems like info you *should* already know? It happens to all of us sometimes


1. First Name: Beatrice

2. Age: 27

3. Location: London town

4. Occupation: administrational time wasting

5. Partner?: Nope. T’is a tragic waste.

6. Kids: No. many, many house plants.

7. Brothers/Sisters: Evil, sadistic step sister, not seen since childhood, at least one half sister, also not seen since childhood and probably a dozen or so more by now.

8. Pets:  I want a kitten.

9. List 3-5 of the biggest things going on in your life:

1) Sorting out medical problems – fun fun fun!
2) My friends wedding – yay! Finland! Moomins! Pickled fish! Boys I know looking hotter than usual in suits! Confetti! Time off work! Flying about! HUZZZZZAAAAHHHHHHHH!! 
3) six feet under – I have the boxset. I havent watched anything else for months. Its soooooo good!
4) reminding myself that just because I am a gloomy little scrap, it does not give me license to inflict said gloom upon other people. In short, I am trying to be less self obsessed and self pitying. Sadly, you will not see the results of this, as this is a journal and therefore I *HAVE* to moan as much as I can, lest I feel I am letting my teenage, journal-obsessed self down horribly.

10. Parents: My mother is an intensely wonderful and inspiring woman; she is hilarious, energetic, kind, fond of sparkly things and gardening. My father is a shambolic, ethically corrupt and rather sadistic former 80s upstart coke fiend with whom I steadfastly refuse to have contact. He, it seems, feels much the same about me. He also has an irrationally high forehead, which I sadly inherited. A bitter child would say t’is all he gave me. A realistic and yet still bitter one would say he also gave me a shed load of ‘issues’. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

There. Wasn’t that illuminating? xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hmmmm. I want a user pic that moves - how do y'all make them, hmm?

I am angry for the following reasons:

1) Im probably gonna loose my job. AGAIN,
2) Im bored
3) Im angry of being blamed for other peoples social inadequacies - if you dont like a party, for example, by all means talk to me about it, if youre struggling to comunicate or feel odd or jumpy, im cool with that - JUST DONT BLAME ME FOR IT. Am i you? NO. Clearly thats what annoys you so much in the first place.
4) I AM NOT OLD - it is not a sin to go dancing or drink too much whiskey or get starry eyed about scrappy boys faces or cocktails or any other types of candy - i do other things too, i read and write and care and pay bills. Im sick of being treated like some kind of rapscallion naer do well. Godammmmit.

Sadly, I was telephoned and told that the emos were nowhere to be seen around the daily mail offices on Saturday, so I did not go and look at them. It turns out they went to marble arch instead ( perhaps M&S have said something partix unkind about the scene? ), but only to the power of 40, which is not such a visually stark notion as over 1000 of them. So, no pretty pictures to show. Tsk.

The weekend was a nice one, went to a party, had my hair styled into a giant beehive and so spent most of the time marveling at the size of the thing rather than socializing (sooooo overrated). We took Adam to Spitalfields and Brick lane for pre party drinks, he seemed quite pleased with it, tho we took him to a fash disco where they charge too much for bottled beer and with a slice of disdain pushed into the neck of each – I still find these things funny, not the price of the beer, but the general air of it. For some reason I never feel intimidated by it, tho I hardly cut the plastic-retro-suglasses-and-denim-hotpants-and-ironic-collars mustard. I am tired and a little worse for wear today, as I slept most of Sunday and so was awake from 1am onwards, packing books from the lounge in prep for the new carpets, drinking tea, smoking and reading the umbrella academy. My eyes feel rather odd and I think I probably look quite yawny, I hope im not producing crazy, made up stats for my projects. Exciting tho, that I should have stayed up all night yet still managed to go to work – so unlike me. I truly do hope that things are changing for the better and that I am becoming realistic about some of my responsibilities – don’t get me wrong, im still not ready to become admin girl just yet (I played a tipsy game with someone at the party in which we assigned superpowers to the partygoers – I think, mostly mean, as is my early morning tendency), I just think its nice that I am not in such discomfort at work that I cannot conceive of going in. It is nice here, lots of windows for sunshine, tea, space. Its better, for sure and I think it helps me to be a bit better too.

Next week I return to the land of Nor, after a trip to Colchester to visit my already-discussed-herein former sin to try and figure out what all of that is about, to take care of my mom’s puppy while she goes to some kind of flower show. The puppy is tiny, still only about two months old, a little Scottish terrier called Flora. Shes hyper and bat eared and pretty darned cute – tho she isn’t a kitty, which initially irked me. Some friends will be joining me, so we will lay in the sunshine of my mom;s idyllic cottage garden and eat cakes and play with the whippersnapper. 

My dear friend is staying in London town for six weeks, while he completes his Toni and Guy training. It truly is a delight to have an accomplished hairdresser in my circle – you may have realized that I am somewhat obsessed with hair. However, I have the most unruly mop, huge and red with a thirst for domination and some kind of odd, randomized kink that runs around the middle. This has always been a problem in enjoying the hair cutting experience, that and the sitting in front of a mirror for an hour, which my self obsessed displeasure in my aesthetics renders a rather torturous experience. Shazam! Adam, formerly PHD chemistry and now master of the scissors, is a genius, knows my style ( hahahaha – such as it is! ) and the madness of my hair and can cut without the aid of a mirror. I loved him anyway, but his choice to abandon chemical romances for the art coiffure is the best thing that ever happened to me. He even lets me smoke while he snips – lovely. Aside from the hair fun, its lovely to have him – he is hilarious and kind and its always a joy to see him.

This weekend: a picnic, weather permitting, following a visit to a sealed cheese room of Marlybone High Street – mmmmmmmm, cheese – followed by the watching and encouraging of the emos in their fight against the daily mail ( at least I don’t work for the fiends any more – the mail I mean, not My Chem ), a few port and lemons in town and then a party in South London. Lovely. There is a particularly fine kitten at the house of the party, his name is nemo and he’s a big, silvery tabby with a troubled past and huge feet. Pretty, pretty, pretty. Once again I predict a night in which I spend my time in the shed getting high with the cat rather than socializing with my peers. I shall never get a husband at this rate, no matter how lovely my hair is. Laters. xxxx