I've got a new best friend, she's called Touche Eclat, and is, by nature, a rather highly regarded concealer (literally).
Touche and I have formed a strong bond over the past few weeks, one which Ginger is increasingly jealous of.
Ginger: What's that?
Me: It's my touche a la touche.
Ginger: What are you saying?
Me: It makes my eyes look better.
Ginger: I think your eyes look fine.
Me: No, come here. Look, I'm getting old. It's horrific. Bags, dark circles, awful.
Ginger: They're fine! Look at my thirty year old eyes, tired, bags, dark-
Me: Oh my God you're right - Would you like to use my Touche Eclat?
*Cue tantrum*
Have you joined in the Graze box craze? It's amazing! You pay £3.50 for a box full of bird seeds in four sections!
ALSO
I accidentally went to the gym in my pyjamas. In that I grabbed what I thought was my gym kit off the dresser in the morning, and found out was my lacy PJs (thanks Topshop). Now, some people would've stopped right there, and said, if someone sees me I'm going to look like I have a dirty fetish to sweat in silk. But I just manned the frick up, and went for it. The only person I ended up having to justify myself to was the cleaner in the lift, and she hid behind her mop. Turns out that I was like soooo comfortable during my run. Highly recommended.
What else? Oooohh I pressed the little button thingy on my new umbrella that makes it big, and it shot out of my hand and hit a woman in York.
AND Ginger Beard rapidly sat back on the sofa, hitting my elbow, which was attached to my arm, which was attached to my hand, which was holding a glass of juice, which punched me in the face. Luckily, it only caused internal bleeding in my mouth. Unluckily, this has resulted in zero attention. I hate it when something hurts and no one can see it. How can anyone feel sorry for me without a proven visual? I'm considering putting my face in a cast, or making some kind of face sling. I also might fall on my face, just to gain the attention I truly deserve.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Friday, June 01, 2012
When did you get so random?
Is anyone else really struggling to get the Ghostbuster's theme out of their head today?
I just want to call them.
I'd tell them there's something wrong in my neighbourhood, and it's called David Cameron.
I KNOW, I GOT POLITICAL.
That's enough.
Because truth be told, my Dad was a Labour man through and through, and raised me as such (supporting Labour, not as a man. Though come to think of it, I was made to watch a lot of football.) Unfortunately I've absorbed all of his enthusiasm and none of the principles. My outlook essentially boils down to:
Labour Good!
Conservatives Bad!
And I throw myself wholeheartedly into alcohol fuelled debates concerning the state of the nation, only to be exposed as a tad thin on the details:
Me: Yes, exactly, and Cameron sucks. He like totally sucks, and I hate him, and he's practically murdering the UK.
Them: Oh, so you're a Labour supporter. Well then what about the NHS; Labour royally fooked the NHS.
Me: Did not! And Cameron looks creepy. He looks like he'd take someone's children.
Them: So essentially, your political standpoint is he can't be good for us because of his face.
Me: Yes. And he steals from the poor to feed the rich. Robin Hood will be pissed.
And so on.
So every now and again I force myself to pick up Ginger Beard's Private Eye, or watch the news. But in Private Eye, they just chuck loads of stats at you in really small print, and I start thinking about the 20% off sale in Oasis and drooling. And on the news, everyone is always dying. I used to watch it every morning during breakfast, and end up depressed all the way to lunch. It's not that I don't think it's important to keep tabs on what's happening in the world, but it seems like only bad things happen, or half an hour is dedicated to the cat that can tap dance.
The one thing I am really interested in is the Holocaust. But that's not the best thing to bring up at a dinner party. Ginger says that I always find a way to drop it into conversation when I'm in a crowd. As in:
Crowd: So, what's your job?
Me: Funny you should ask. By day I work in an office, but my true occupation is unearthing and sharing the human suffering stories from the Holocaust.
Crowd: Right.
I don't do that! Okay, sometimes I do that.
I can't help it. Every year I read Anne Frank's diary, and am completely dumbfounded. The idea of this girl, trapped in an attic, loyally recording time, and you're right there with her. Incredible.
How did this go from David Cameron to Anne Frank?
I suppose you could say that Anne Frank was fucked, and Cameron is fucking us.
Oooohhh - link.
I just want to call them.
I'd tell them there's something wrong in my neighbourhood, and it's called David Cameron.
I KNOW, I GOT POLITICAL.
That's enough.
Because truth be told, my Dad was a Labour man through and through, and raised me as such (supporting Labour, not as a man. Though come to think of it, I was made to watch a lot of football.) Unfortunately I've absorbed all of his enthusiasm and none of the principles. My outlook essentially boils down to:
Labour Good!
Conservatives Bad!
And I throw myself wholeheartedly into alcohol fuelled debates concerning the state of the nation, only to be exposed as a tad thin on the details:
Me: Yes, exactly, and Cameron sucks. He like totally sucks, and I hate him, and he's practically murdering the UK.
Them: Oh, so you're a Labour supporter. Well then what about the NHS; Labour royally fooked the NHS.
Me: Did not! And Cameron looks creepy. He looks like he'd take someone's children.
Them: So essentially, your political standpoint is he can't be good for us because of his face.
Me: Yes. And he steals from the poor to feed the rich. Robin Hood will be pissed.
And so on.
So every now and again I force myself to pick up Ginger Beard's Private Eye, or watch the news. But in Private Eye, they just chuck loads of stats at you in really small print, and I start thinking about the 20% off sale in Oasis and drooling. And on the news, everyone is always dying. I used to watch it every morning during breakfast, and end up depressed all the way to lunch. It's not that I don't think it's important to keep tabs on what's happening in the world, but it seems like only bad things happen, or half an hour is dedicated to the cat that can tap dance.
The one thing I am really interested in is the Holocaust. But that's not the best thing to bring up at a dinner party. Ginger says that I always find a way to drop it into conversation when I'm in a crowd. As in:
Crowd: So, what's your job?
Me: Funny you should ask. By day I work in an office, but my true occupation is unearthing and sharing the human suffering stories from the Holocaust.
Crowd: Right.
I don't do that! Okay, sometimes I do that.
I can't help it. Every year I read Anne Frank's diary, and am completely dumbfounded. The idea of this girl, trapped in an attic, loyally recording time, and you're right there with her. Incredible.
How did this go from David Cameron to Anne Frank?
I suppose you could say that Anne Frank was fucked, and Cameron is fucking us.
Oooohhh - link.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Go for the burn!
I know you've said it.
You know you've said it.
At some point last week you went, 'Oh, isn't the weather amazing! It's incredible, I just love it.!
And ten minutes later, 'God it's hot. Are you hot? I'm too hot.'
It's okay. It's because you're British. You never really had a chance. Our grandparents do it. Our mothers and fathers do it. And now, throughout your life, you will do it. Accept the inevitable.
I also don't have any stories about seating!
But I do have one about this lovely, orange woman in Boots. If you've never tired 'The Green Machine', from Naked Juice, then shame on you. It's packed with ingredients that you'd never normally eat, especially all together and looks like bile. But here's the thing - it tastes good, and if the label's to be believed - It is good for you.
When aforementioned orange woman said, 'Great choice, these are fab!' I thought, exactly, well done.
I said, 'They are, but I can't believe what's in them. Pretty disgusting.'
She said, 'I know!' (Looked at the ingredients). 'Three and a half apples! I would never eat that.'
What's especially astounding about this, is the sheer array of more plausible options she had at her disposal:
ALSO,
Is there anyone else with feet like mine? Where within the space of four days you've exhausted all your summer footwear via injury. Blister between the toes - no more flip flops. Blister at the back of the heel - no more sandals. It's like I present anything other than converse to my feet and they strop.
'Feet, try these, you'll like these.'
Feet - 'No. Converse.'
'What about these? These are nice.'
Feet - 'NO! CONVERSE!'
I guess I should consider myself lucky that we only get seven days of summer a year.
If you haven't already, try and burn. It will be something to remember it by.
You know you've said it.
At some point last week you went, 'Oh, isn't the weather amazing! It's incredible, I just love it.!
And ten minutes later, 'God it's hot. Are you hot? I'm too hot.'
It's okay. It's because you're British. You never really had a chance. Our grandparents do it. Our mothers and fathers do it. And now, throughout your life, you will do it. Accept the inevitable.
I also don't have any stories about seating!
But I do have one about this lovely, orange woman in Boots. If you've never tired 'The Green Machine', from Naked Juice, then shame on you. It's packed with ingredients that you'd never normally eat, especially all together and looks like bile. But here's the thing - it tastes good, and if the label's to be believed - It is good for you.
When aforementioned orange woman said, 'Great choice, these are fab!' I thought, exactly, well done.
I said, 'They are, but I can't believe what's in them. Pretty disgusting.'
She said, 'I know!' (Looked at the ingredients). 'Three and a half apples! I would never eat that.'
What's especially astounding about this, is the sheer array of more plausible options she had at her disposal:
| Spirulina | Barley Grass |
| Chlorella | Wheat Grass |
| Brocolli | Ginger |
| Spinach | Parsley |
| Blue Green Algae | |
| Garlic |
ALSO,
Is there anyone else with feet like mine? Where within the space of four days you've exhausted all your summer footwear via injury. Blister between the toes - no more flip flops. Blister at the back of the heel - no more sandals. It's like I present anything other than converse to my feet and they strop.
'Feet, try these, you'll like these.'
Feet - 'No. Converse.'
'What about these? These are nice.'
Feet - 'NO! CONVERSE!'
I guess I should consider myself lucky that we only get seven days of summer a year.
If you haven't already, try and burn. It will be something to remember it by.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Having coffee with Jesus
The other day, I decided to go church.
Now, I'm not religious, but I do like to dip my toes into the pool of possibility from time to time. That is, that life gets incredibly boring if we strictly stick to what we believe, without ever entertaining alternatives.
I'm not a particularly wholesome person. I swear far too much, and I'm ridiculously selfish. Going to church doesn't mean I want to change. I don't. I have a lot of fun with my flaws. But what it can be, if you don't get too intense about it, is extremely motivational.
The speaker on Friday was incredible, a real two thumbs fresh. Hilarious, current, and right on the money. A comedian at heart, he played out various anecdotes, harping back to one core belief - Mediocrity is worse than failure. It was the idea that so many of us go around in this crouched position, never quite committing to the sit, never standing straight and fighting for something. And then of course, the tale would wind it's way back to God, and his role as a pillar of support in this battle. Well, that's where I sat back, and opted out. As I mentioned to my friend on the way home, 'I want to take credit for my strength.' If I wrestle with my demons and come out victorious, I've earned the pat on my own back.
I guess my struggle with this, with believing in God, is the idea that you require a third party to lean on, something beyond yourself that will help carry you through. Maybe I lack the required amount of faith. Maybe my own innate cynicism will always be what stands between me and divine intervention. But at this period in my life, only concrete sources keep me strong, things like friends, family, and the decisions I make.
On Saturday I had a spring in my step, and felt kind of restored to maximum potential. On Monday, I ran my furthest, thinking on the Speaker's well chosen words. And this is what I'm trying to say; I don't think you have to go to church with apprehension, with the idea, that as a non Christian it means you shouldn't be there, and that as a result, you have nothing to learn.
I learnt a lot.
I guess the ultimate battle is with yourself, and arming yourself with tactics, and the self-awareness to combat you, is a smart move. Plus everyone oozes niceness, and hugs you, and gives you a chance. When I compare that to the commuter train to Manchester, I can't tell you how much I need it.
Now, I'm not religious, but I do like to dip my toes into the pool of possibility from time to time. That is, that life gets incredibly boring if we strictly stick to what we believe, without ever entertaining alternatives.
I'm not a particularly wholesome person. I swear far too much, and I'm ridiculously selfish. Going to church doesn't mean I want to change. I don't. I have a lot of fun with my flaws. But what it can be, if you don't get too intense about it, is extremely motivational.
The speaker on Friday was incredible, a real two thumbs fresh. Hilarious, current, and right on the money. A comedian at heart, he played out various anecdotes, harping back to one core belief - Mediocrity is worse than failure. It was the idea that so many of us go around in this crouched position, never quite committing to the sit, never standing straight and fighting for something. And then of course, the tale would wind it's way back to God, and his role as a pillar of support in this battle. Well, that's where I sat back, and opted out. As I mentioned to my friend on the way home, 'I want to take credit for my strength.' If I wrestle with my demons and come out victorious, I've earned the pat on my own back.
I guess my struggle with this, with believing in God, is the idea that you require a third party to lean on, something beyond yourself that will help carry you through. Maybe I lack the required amount of faith. Maybe my own innate cynicism will always be what stands between me and divine intervention. But at this period in my life, only concrete sources keep me strong, things like friends, family, and the decisions I make.
On Saturday I had a spring in my step, and felt kind of restored to maximum potential. On Monday, I ran my furthest, thinking on the Speaker's well chosen words. And this is what I'm trying to say; I don't think you have to go to church with apprehension, with the idea, that as a non Christian it means you shouldn't be there, and that as a result, you have nothing to learn.
I learnt a lot.
I guess the ultimate battle is with yourself, and arming yourself with tactics, and the self-awareness to combat you, is a smart move. Plus everyone oozes niceness, and hugs you, and gives you a chance. When I compare that to the commuter train to Manchester, I can't tell you how much I need it.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Be nicer to your feet!
4000 hits! Thank you very muchly indeed. I feel like I should give something back, and so I shall give this:
If you run too much, your toenails fall off. Yes, they do. Because someone told me this story, about this person, who ran, like really far (marathon) and her big toenails fell off. And then I told Ginger Beard, aghast, and he said,
-Yeah, I know someone that happened to.
And then I was like, OMG this is inevitable.
Health Officials yap on about exercise, but seriously, could your body be any louder in taking against it?
Looooaaddss of people are signing up for charity runs at the moment, and asking me to jump on the bandwagon. Unfortunately, I value my toenails. I just don't think my feet will be the same without them.
Though I'm not prepared to give them over, I am giving money instead. So in urging said runner along, I am almost, almost, running with them, mile for mile (just in such a way that allows for the retention of my toenails.)
ALSO
This thing happened on the train (Surprise!). You'll be wondering to yourself, why are so many people so horrible to Gemma on the train? I ask the same question, and I can only conclude that it's probably my face. There's something about my face which makes strangers hate me.
This man was in my seat.
Me: I'm so sorry, but I've booked that seat.
Man: *glares*
Me: So if I could just....
Man moves from seat, growling and goes to sit in a different seat. Man, mere moments later is turfed from new seat by another ticket holder and has to stand.
Internal Monologue - HA HA HA YOU STUPID BASTARD. YOU CAN'T GET ANY SEAT, YOU DIRTY SEAT TAKER. SERVES YOU RIGHT, YOU BEASTLY SCUM..
At this juncture, I overhear:
Woman (to another woman) - Excuse me, that's my seat.
2nd Woman - oh dear, I'm so sorry, let me just move my.....sorry about that.
WHAT? Why do I never get the sorry people, the reasonable, apologetic people?
And I'll tell you why - my face.Because even the nicest person, hates the face.
The man soon ends up sitting next to me, and elbows me all the way to Huddersfield. By which I mean, that he non too subtly, strikes me with his atrocious elbow (GBH) every time the train moves a smidgen. I retaliate. Until we are like two squabbling siblings, jousting with crooked arms.
Which is great. Because now it's costing me £16.95, to get on a delayed train, not be able to get to my seat for 20mins, accept visual abuse from the tosser in my seat once found, listen to incessant lies over the intercom about apologising for the overcrowding, and finally, to get attacked by a complete jebeye whose mother obviously didn't love him properly.
This is me on a good day.
If you run too much, your toenails fall off. Yes, they do. Because someone told me this story, about this person, who ran, like really far (marathon) and her big toenails fell off. And then I told Ginger Beard, aghast, and he said,
-Yeah, I know someone that happened to.
And then I was like, OMG this is inevitable.
Health Officials yap on about exercise, but seriously, could your body be any louder in taking against it?
Looooaaddss of people are signing up for charity runs at the moment, and asking me to jump on the bandwagon. Unfortunately, I value my toenails. I just don't think my feet will be the same without them.
Though I'm not prepared to give them over, I am giving money instead. So in urging said runner along, I am almost, almost, running with them, mile for mile (just in such a way that allows for the retention of my toenails.)
ALSO
This thing happened on the train (Surprise!). You'll be wondering to yourself, why are so many people so horrible to Gemma on the train? I ask the same question, and I can only conclude that it's probably my face. There's something about my face which makes strangers hate me.
This man was in my seat.
Me: I'm so sorry, but I've booked that seat.
Man: *glares*
Me: So if I could just....
Man moves from seat, growling and goes to sit in a different seat. Man, mere moments later is turfed from new seat by another ticket holder and has to stand.
Internal Monologue - HA HA HA YOU STUPID BASTARD. YOU CAN'T GET ANY SEAT, YOU DIRTY SEAT TAKER. SERVES YOU RIGHT, YOU BEASTLY SCUM..
At this juncture, I overhear:
Woman (to another woman) - Excuse me, that's my seat.
2nd Woman - oh dear, I'm so sorry, let me just move my.....sorry about that.
WHAT? Why do I never get the sorry people, the reasonable, apologetic people?
And I'll tell you why - my face.Because even the nicest person, hates the face.
The man soon ends up sitting next to me, and elbows me all the way to Huddersfield. By which I mean, that he non too subtly, strikes me with his atrocious elbow (GBH) every time the train moves a smidgen. I retaliate. Until we are like two squabbling siblings, jousting with crooked arms.
Which is great. Because now it's costing me £16.95, to get on a delayed train, not be able to get to my seat for 20mins, accept visual abuse from the tosser in my seat once found, listen to incessant lies over the intercom about apologising for the overcrowding, and finally, to get attacked by a complete jebeye whose mother obviously didn't love him properly.
This is me on a good day.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Chill your beef
Oh my God guys, it was so awful; I got kicked out of my own blog! I was like, but I need to update the people on yet another horrendous train journey and how I ended up snorting a grape. And I couldn't!
The writing lark is very cathartic for me, so I went around a little more furious than usual and took it out on unsuspecting strangers.
So.......the grape!
Right, I was eating this red, seedless grape, mushing it up with my teeth and shit, when a friend made me laugh and I snorted. The grape, in all it's lovely squashed form, went up my nose. Have you ever experienced the sensation of fruit stuck in your head? It's frigging unbearable. I wanted to be sick. But all I could do was sneeze and go buzz eyed.
My friend was like, 'Blow it out, quick!' chucking tissue at me. But it didn't want to go that way.
I know what you're thinking, you're thinking Gemma, this is too much of a share. But I truly feel that no one else should have to endure this. Learn from my mistake guys. Don't consume grapes in moments which may potentially warrant laughter.
Over the next four hours, bits of the grape, fell back into my mouth.
THAT'S RIGHT.CAN YOU IMAGINE?
I DON'T THINK YOU CAN.
I also went on this train, and sat in my seat, and this woman came over and was like,
'I'm afraid you've sat in my seat.'
And I was like, 'No, this is definitely my seat.'
And then we looked at each others tickets, and they were the same.
You know what she did? She asked me if I was going to move. What the fuck juice? (Mum, I'm really sorry about the language, but this lady was totally breaking my balls.)
So I said, 'Uh, no, I'm already sat here so.....'
And she was all, 'But it's also my seat.'
GOD HELP US ALL.
I suggested that she sought a refund, and pointed out, that she was obviously entitled to one. Then she stood next to me all the way to Manchester, for an hour. I don't think she stopped starting at my face once, so I made sure that my face was projecting, 'Wow, this is the best seat ever, what a great seat, and I am so ridiculously happy right now, all the happier for sitting.'
I do realise that a few of my blogs now have been all about seating. But this is what the world is coming to. It's a dark place for a commuter these days. In the words of philosophers Black Eyed Peas, 'Where is the love?'
The writing lark is very cathartic for me, so I went around a little more furious than usual and took it out on unsuspecting strangers.
So.......the grape!
Right, I was eating this red, seedless grape, mushing it up with my teeth and shit, when a friend made me laugh and I snorted. The grape, in all it's lovely squashed form, went up my nose. Have you ever experienced the sensation of fruit stuck in your head? It's frigging unbearable. I wanted to be sick. But all I could do was sneeze and go buzz eyed.
My friend was like, 'Blow it out, quick!' chucking tissue at me. But it didn't want to go that way.
I know what you're thinking, you're thinking Gemma, this is too much of a share. But I truly feel that no one else should have to endure this. Learn from my mistake guys. Don't consume grapes in moments which may potentially warrant laughter.
Over the next four hours, bits of the grape, fell back into my mouth.
THAT'S RIGHT.CAN YOU IMAGINE?
I DON'T THINK YOU CAN.
I also went on this train, and sat in my seat, and this woman came over and was like,
'I'm afraid you've sat in my seat.'
And I was like, 'No, this is definitely my seat.'
And then we looked at each others tickets, and they were the same.
You know what she did? She asked me if I was going to move. What the fuck juice? (Mum, I'm really sorry about the language, but this lady was totally breaking my balls.)
So I said, 'Uh, no, I'm already sat here so.....'
And she was all, 'But it's also my seat.'
GOD HELP US ALL.
I suggested that she sought a refund, and pointed out, that she was obviously entitled to one. Then she stood next to me all the way to Manchester, for an hour. I don't think she stopped starting at my face once, so I made sure that my face was projecting, 'Wow, this is the best seat ever, what a great seat, and I am so ridiculously happy right now, all the happier for sitting.'
I do realise that a few of my blogs now have been all about seating. But this is what the world is coming to. It's a dark place for a commuter these days. In the words of philosophers Black Eyed Peas, 'Where is the love?'
Tuesday, May 08, 2012
Intimidation is underrated
If you're feeling like your recent cinema trips are a little too sedate, then I have some excellent advice for you. Simply recruit an aggressive Yorkshire man, and a clueless Ginger Beard, instantly transforming the event into an absolute hoot.
Firstly, you'll all be able to sneak in Starbucks, just by mentally projecting the threat of violence. Approach the ticket checker with a furrowed brow, crack your knuckles, make her realise you're serious.
Send your Ginger Beard up to the correct row first. Even though he can't see, and has no idea of your seat numbers, he will isolate a group of strangers and accuse, 'You're in our seats.'
They will say, 'No, there are our seats.'
And he will stare at them.
Introduce your Yorkshire man, who will point at a seat, and count along, '9, 10, 11, 12...' before looking up at a different man, and saying, 'Our seats.'
Chaos, as second group also refuse to move. Yorkshire man then realises he's been looking at the screen number instead.
Register that you're quickly running out of people to piss off.
You find the seats.
Your neighbour is so terrified, he offers to move further away, if it would make you happy.
Voila, absolute hoot.
Also - watch The Avengers, because it's like, totally, totally, AmazeBalls.
ALSO, watch it in 3D, becuase if you're lucky, in the way that I'm lucky, you'll get to wear the 3D glasses on top of your actual glasses, which believe it or not, makes you look like a covert celebrity with more style than substance.
Firstly, you'll all be able to sneak in Starbucks, just by mentally projecting the threat of violence. Approach the ticket checker with a furrowed brow, crack your knuckles, make her realise you're serious.
Send your Ginger Beard up to the correct row first. Even though he can't see, and has no idea of your seat numbers, he will isolate a group of strangers and accuse, 'You're in our seats.'
They will say, 'No, there are our seats.'
And he will stare at them.
Introduce your Yorkshire man, who will point at a seat, and count along, '9, 10, 11, 12...' before looking up at a different man, and saying, 'Our seats.'
Chaos, as second group also refuse to move. Yorkshire man then realises he's been looking at the screen number instead.
Register that you're quickly running out of people to piss off.
You find the seats.
Your neighbour is so terrified, he offers to move further away, if it would make you happy.
Voila, absolute hoot.
Also - watch The Avengers, because it's like, totally, totally, AmazeBalls.
ALSO, watch it in 3D, becuase if you're lucky, in the way that I'm lucky, you'll get to wear the 3D glasses on top of your actual glasses, which believe it or not, makes you look like a covert celebrity with more style than substance.
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