Thursday, January 29, 2015

Obsessed much

Totes sorry that I've not written in a while.

This is what you've missed:

1) Ginger Beard trying to make new friends:


2) My whole life dissolving into two areas - Weddings, and Pretty Little Liars (TV show).

I don't really have anything to offer people, unless it falls into one of the above. Usually, I combine them. If I start a conversation with you, and the topic falls outside of these subjects, wow, you got lucky punk.

What I didn't realise, was how quickly I would hone the skill of turning every interaction into a discussion about the wedding.

They say: 'Can you tell me how to get to Covent Garden?'
I say: 'Covent Garden is a location. My wedding has a location. I will show you on Google Maps."

So that's what you're gonna get folks - just so we're clear. If you've made social plans with me, and you didn't enjoy that made up quote, cancel the plans.

Oh, and I guess I should give you an example of the alternative chat - 'Pretty Little Liars', then you will have all the facts.

*Spoiler alert*

Me: 'Don't you just hate it how like, Aria is in love with her teacher, but like, they can't be together, and then like, her brother is going through these intense emotional difficulties, and they still haven't figured out who murdered Alison with the shovel?'

Consider yourself warned.

I've also applied to be a blogger on LoveMyDress, and cited this blog as an example of my work. Do you think they will consider me now that I've posted a photo of my boyfriend's face up the backside of an artificial, skinned cow?

I hope so.

3) Pretty much making it through dry January. It was a success, if you consider these things to be successful:

-Not really having any fun
-Not really being any fun
-Remembering stuff.

4) WEDDINGS

5) PRETTY LITTLE LIARS

That is all. Thanks for your time.



Friday, January 16, 2015

Fear and loathing

Just before Christmas, I bit into a piece of Rocky Road and it bent my brace.

Before you cry out, "Why Gemma, there is no such brace on your beautiful teeth!" It's my secret brace, along the inside of my bottom teeth.

I tried to ignore it.

Why?

A) I'm lazy
B) Don't trust strangers with power tools
C) Assumed it would fix itself.

No such luck.

So I made the sodding booking, and sat in the stupid chair with the special plastic glasses on and held the fairy tale mirror.

Things I like about my dentist.

A) I always have to wear the glasses - even when I'm having nothing done. She is worried that whatever is in my mouth is so horrendous, that when I open it lying down, what comes out will blind me.

B) I always have to hold the fairy tale mirror. This is so that when she asks me for £488754 I can't insist that she didn't do everything, because I watched ever torturous move.

It looks like this:


Because the brace had become unglued from three teeth, she insisted that it was a simple job of drilling the old glue away, and boshing on some new glue. The drill looked like this:


It was very painful. I did not like it. I kept trying really hard to relax my clasped hands, because I was losing sensation in my thumbs.

At my old dentists, we had a signal for when I was overwhelmed with agony - raising my left arm. This one isn't fussed.

The taste and smell of the construction project in my mouth, reminded me of when we made little motor boats in Design Technology at school.

I guess I should be grateful that she didn't look like this man:


As he is very inappropriate.

 I'm using this blog to work on showing and not telling. I hope you like it. Mostly, I just don't trust you to be able to picture the severity of my dentist appointment on your own.

Luckily, James took me out to dinner that night to celebrate my survival, and that it was all over.

Unluckily, I got food poisoning.

HOPE YOU'RE HAVING A GREAT DAY.


Monday, January 12, 2015

Eat, sleep, rave, repeat

Okay, so the title of this blog is not strictly true, if you want to be pedantic and look at the 'rave' part.

Unless that is, you're willing to open up the definition of rave to include:

'Dons PJ's, spends time with Kindle.'

In which case, I totes rave often.

Things are definitely on loop in my London life. Cue inappropriate touch from undesirable stranger:

A Japanese man steps on the tube, and puts both of his arms round me, feigning that this is only way he can possible hold on.

Me: Um, do you think you could possibly stand over there? *Pointing to large space.*

Japanese man: Shitty, shitty train! *Moves dramatically into free space*

Me: *Stunned*

I can only assume that on trains in Japan, men are used to receiving their ticket and then some. And as such, the poor man was driven to fury, when he found me to be unreceptive and frankly disgusted.

Look who got 100% in this IQ test!

http://www.travelinsurancedirect.com.au/tripwise/guide-to-japan/chikan-and-wandering-hands

'Public transport here is mostly trouble-free, but watch out for wandering hands.
Some female visitors report being drugged and assaulted or being subjected to incidents of “chikan” - groping on public transport.
TID customers get useful phrases to use to scare off attackers, plus details on how to report it when they buy a policy. 
Tripwise automatically updates with extended and exclusive content. Buy a policy now to upgrade immediately. 
Our advice to our customers helps them have a better trip.'

Jesus McJesus.
I really want to know what the useful phrases are, but I really don't want to take out a policy.
Thus, I have been forced to use my imagination.
Firstly, it has been proven that uttering. "Um, can you stand over there please?" works a treat. You're welcome.
I can also suggest:
"Get off me you fucking nutjob!"
"Police!"
"I have a gun and the safety is broken!"
"Dirty bastard alert!"
"Sisters, unite and help me!"
If you are female and thinking about going to Japan, I suggest that you learn several, if not all of these exclamations, and in Japanese.
Whatever you do, do not type 'Japanese women get drugged on trains?' into Google, at work. What is returned, if anything, exacerbates the issue.
It's only a matter of time before my willingness to fully research my blog topics, hits me squarely in the face.







Tuesday, January 06, 2015

Lon - done

I have an erratic and painful spasm in my right thigh - January bluesitous?

A good test of my mindset is my evening commute home along Putney bridge. A happy Gemma chooses to wander along on the side closest to the Thames, occasionally snapping away at a fetching sunset, and breathing in the fragrant, polluted air.

An unhappy Gemma drags her feet along the side closest to the road, hoping to be clipped by a cyclist and spun (undoubtedly) like an elegant ballerina, into the traffic, and put out my fucking misery.

Needless to say, this week, I'll be walking road side.

Things I missed about this Shity 

(Cleverly, I've amalgamated the words 'Shit' and 'City' to convey my displeasure at the location at which I currently reside. I'm probably the first person to have come up with this.)

1. The drip

If you're having a shower in my flat, at the same time that one of the other lovely residents (of which there are 6, excluding Ginger) is having theirs, than your experience becomes akin to sticking your head under a leaky tap. You cannot wash your hair on these days, because you do not have the thirty minutes required, for the drip to gently wash the shampoo out.

2. The journey

Oh the stood on toes, the rucksack to the gut! How I missed thee over the Christmas break! Thankfully, it wasn't long before the first assault, yesterday in fact. I was sitting down, playing on Candy Crush, trying to imagine that the whole thing was a regrettable, depressing nightmare, when I was struck on the nose by a handbag. The lady, upon arriving on the tube, was happy to let the leather monstrosity rock back and forth from her wrist, striking me with each sway. I said:

'Excuse me, I don't suppose you could put your bag on the floor. It keeps hitting me in the face.'

What did she do?

Apologise? Exhibit remorse? No, of course not. She trapped her tongue between her front teeth, and giggled at me, as if we were sharing some intimately fun and cheeky moment, then held the bag slightly away.

On a lighter note, I did receive this email today:


So if I do want to surprise my woman, I've got somewhere to turn for advice. Because I'm so helpful, I've included the full email address, should you wish to get in touch directly.

I'm also being stalked by an Italian wedding planner called Emile. She keeps sending me 34 page documents of terms and conditions for my b&b wedding, and pointing out in capitals that booking all of the bedrooms will only set me back £15,000.

It looks like my dream of saying I do to a ginger, at a bed and breakfast, is dead.

In her last correspondence, Emile asked me if I was ready to take my wedding seriously.

No, not as seriously as she takes stalking.