Friday, 21 December 2007

Dudes My Mum Fancies

Here's the latest list in no particular order of importance(it changes, I may have to make this a regular feature).

This year's X-Factor winner (for you Americans, its like American Idol but there is no age ban, of course Leon here is but 18.)
Leon was this year's underdog up against classically trained Welsh Rydhian who my mother thought looked like a Nazi. Leon is Scottish complete with thick cut brogue and sad single mum sob story. He's got a velvety Sinatra like voice and is about 5ft 2. My mother says:

"He's like a little toy. I want to dress him and then make him sing."

Have I got New For You's Paul Merton has been a favorite for a while.
Mad respeck moms for diggin' the smart funny dude with the double chin. Merton's clever quips and lightening retorts send my mother into a hand clapping frenzy.
My mother says:
"I want to go to dinner with him and then maybe have a cuddle."

Last but not least is hipster comedian and ex heroine sex addict Russel Brand. My mother was won over by his performance at the Royal Variety Show and his blatant piss taking of the Queen who was sitting up in the balcony with Phillip and her tiara.

My mother says:
"He's so cheecky. And he has beautiful beautiful features, a perfect mouth, nose and mouth...but I think he's gay." (Americans, this is funny because he's not.)

That's it for now.

Happy Holidays!

Your fan,


Tuesday, 27 November 2007

Friday, 16 November 2007

Foolish Sucka

I watched this movie on my flight back from NY - its basically the New Zealand version of Napoleon Dynomite starring my new favorite person Jermaine Clement of Flight of the Conchords fame. I fancy him for the same reasons I fancied Jack Black.

And any of you who know Jen, Rain's roommate...this girl is the spitting image, or perhaps her which is why Rain never sees Jen...because she's shooting indie flics in New Zealand.

Not super happy to be back in England after NYC but as Ric pointed out, at least I'm closer to Chabal.

your fan,

Thursday, 18 October 2007

My Hairy Rambo

My fascination with Sebastien Chabal has officially turned to attraction and I am horrified, HORRIFIED, to learn that I am but one of many. Not only that, he's married with two daughters and most disturbing of all, he's younger than me. He's younger than me!! Does this look like the face of a man 3 years my junior?

No. It doesn't.

So Sebastien is from the south of France (my spiritual home) and I would like to sit on his massive man lap and feed him raw meat while petting his stringy wet hair. Weird? Perhaps.


I love him.

So apparently he was voted the sexiest man of the rugby world cup, his lady fans call themselves Les Chabalistes and have made him the poster child for “the antithesis of metrosexuality”.

It seems we ladies are torn. One day we want sensitive acoustic guitar playing chappies to make love to us and the next we want a Gallic 6ft 3, 117 kilo Hagrid look-alike to throw us over his shoulder and take us back to his cave for the heaviest of all petting. I read that last one straight from my wish book.

My English friend Francis (an acoustic guitar playing sensitive chappie)was delighted by France's defeat adding "Sebastien Chabal clearly didn't eat enough babies that day."

My friend Thanos (not English) said "I second the Sebastien Chabal comment (refering to what Francis wrote on my Facebook wall), I would love to kick him in the back and run like there's no tomorrow."

For men, Sebastien represents the drooling monster from childhood. The one who loiters in your closet or under your bed, waits for you to fall asleep, eats you and then dates your girlfriend.

For me, Sebastien embodies all that is male and the fact that he is French (the superhero of girlfriend snatchers) makes it all the more pungent. He's a double threat - like Whitney Houston's singing and acting career, sans the crack.

Or maybe its just that guys take one look at him and see one big ugly hairy motherfucker. I won't rule it out.

As for my own personal attraction, I'm not quite sure. Initially, I thought he was pushing 40 and reverred him for his resiliance and high calcium consumption. Once that myth was shattered, I noticed him for his refusal to tie up that long stringy hair, despite the fact that it could so easily get ripped out or split ended. Then I noticed his thighs. Then I saw him smile and it was all over.

There's also the fact that he kind of looks like an ugly, shorter, cro-magnon version of the volleyball player who by the way sent me a long long email recently written in such poor run on sentance structure, I had to read it ten times to make sure I dislike him. I miss him though.

Sebastien lives in Cheshire with his two young daughters and his wife Annick (which by the way means "I fuck" in Arabic). Maybe I shall buy a train ticket to wherever Cheshire is and start roaming the countryside where I am sure to spot him running naked in search of squirrel meat.

Or maybe I'll just head into London and watch the rugby final with my sister and friends and pretend to give a shit when England lose.

your fan,


Tuesday, 16 October 2007

Dinner with Friends

I'm back from France. I won't whine anymore about the volleyball player, suffice to say that he tried to contact me a whopping two times.

Anyway, going back to France was a really good idea. Shame Jerry Hall wasn't there, celebrity sympathy would have been a definate tonic. Instead I made do with the company of my regular old friends who work the summer season en France.

Since September and October is quiet on the French Riviera (populated by 20 English and Swiss German people, average age: 75) we got to spend a lot of time together. Mostly I wrote a lot and slept and walked and smoked cigarettes and watched movies. The opposite of my summer, except for the cigarettes.

Before leaving I invited my local friends to dinner chez moi. The adonis came. Remember the adonis? He's the one who looks like The David but with proportional hand size. He's the one who looks like he could turn a tree into a canoe by smiling at it. Then he would push it out into the water and go read Hemingway. He came to my dinner party all gussied up clutching a bottle of champagne looking like the cover of a romance novel if it was called "First Date." Nothing happened nor did I want it to, I'm having a man break and am still in mourning to a certain degree. That and the fact that if my libido was a food it would be a frozen pea.

This guy wanted to get it on wid me.
He loitered at the end of the dinner party and asked if I wanted him to stay the night.
"Why? Are you going to puke?" I asked him playing dumb and hoping the word "puke" would kill the mood.
"No, no I'm fine," he replied so I gave him a "then what the fuck are you talking about" face, but a nice one and he left without fuss.
There were herbal refreshments brought to my dinner party so naturally when the guests left, I finished them off and then cleaned like a true obsessive compulsive, its my favorite thing to do when marinated, that and watching reality TV with Clay.

Its the first time I've invited kids to play at my place in France. I was super excited. Sitting around the dinner table chatting and chewing, I came to realize that I have absolutely nothing in common with these people. At one point they had a twenty minute conversation about the dangers of ham slicing. Then this chick told me how if she hits an animal on the road, she takes it home and cooks it for dinner. Not like a dog or cat but pretty much everything else. I thought she was kidding so I laughed.

An ex boyfriend of mine once said "whenever I have people come over I want them to leave eaxctly 20 minutes after they arrive," (Nader) and this time I totally agreed. With the exception of the adonis of course, whose company is just delightful.

I had a wonderful time in France, waking up to a sea view and mountains is beyond description, then watching Top Chef on my laptop while eating breakfast, well...thats pretty special too. I didn't want to leave.

Am in England now, the weather hasn't been too bad but I just get depressed when I'm here, mainly because I'm living at my mother's and super swell as she is, its not the same as being alone en France. I'm temping today, at that same company with that woman who looks like Andew Lloyd Webber, remember her?

In one week today I'll be en route to NYC to see my beloveds.

And I don't mean to sound ungrateful about my French peeps, lets just say that maybe I wouldn't have been as content as I thought about raising 8 foot babies with the athlete in this small southern French town.

your fan,


Thursday, 20 September 2007

Efraristo,Thank you, Merci

This goes out to all my peeps in London, Brighton, Greece, New York, Belgium, Connecticut, Switzerland, France and LA that have been my rock during this difficult time . Mad respeck to y'all, I'd be 2 meds away from shaving my head if it wasn't for you.

Right now he's trying to get a hold of me to "explain" but my phone is switched off and I'm not responding to his email, just gonna disappear into the night like the international woman of mystery that I am.

Next stop southern France for 2 weeks on my own.

Peace out Greece!


Wednesday, 19 September 2007

Check Out My Horoscope for Today

Love, relationships, beauty, and pleasure are emphasized now. You feel especially attractive or friendly, and the warmth you radiate is noticed and appreciated. A new romance or friendship may ensue. Artistic efforts are also fruitful.


Friday, 14 September 2007

The Skinny

Ok, so I removed the picture of me and Bertrand with the dates we were going out and the RIP - it was a touch melodramatic even for me, but I still think its important to share that I once found a Kenny G CD in his car and it was in a Johnny Halliday CD case. Johnny Halliday is my French version of Celine Dione which I tried to explain to Bertrand and he was like "you don't like Celine Dione?"

I never said he was perfect, but I liked him anyway.

The last two weeks I have made excuses for the fact that I was hearing from him less and less. That he was tired from playing with balls and other men, that he was getting to know a foreign city and his fellow ball handlers.

So it was mostly me calling and if he picked up he sounded distracted and eager to get off the phone. As opposed to the week before that when he would call me through out the day to tell me how much I was missed, to share his day or yes, just to hear the sound of my voice. Ok, so I made the last one up but I don't care anymore, I'm like a Sex Pistol.

So then I get a text from him saying "it would be better for me if you called and texted on my French mobile only", and his French mobile was always switched off. So I called and texted on his Italien mobile to let him know and resume contact. But he never picked up when I called.

Last week I sent him a text asking if anything was wrong, I never heard back. So then I call him and he doesn't pick up. So then I become Glenn Close and resist the constant urge to call him on the hour.

Eventually, realizing that I wan't going away he picked up and got me off the phone in about 10 seconds flat. He said he would call me the next day and explain why he had "disappeared". He was so obviously not alone when I called.

So I waited for his call the next night like a coiled spring and jumped 3 metres in the air every time the phone rang. And guess what? He never called.

My dad was like "whatever you do, don't call him!" and of course I wait til my dad goes to bed (i.e watches movies in bed until 3am) and call him. And he doesn't pick up.

At this point I feel like I've eaten a shit sandwhich that I can't throw up. I sleep like half a minute and the next day try calling him again. Both mobiles are switched off. Doesn't he know who I am? Didn't get get the memo?

Later that day I get a text from him saying "sorry I've disappeared, i need some time to get my head together, I'm confused and in times like these i need to be alone. I need some more time and then I will call you. If I make you wait its because I like you and want to make sure that I make the right decision about what I want."

Isn't that hot? so right now I'm supposed to be waiting to see what he wants. If he wants me. As if! Naturally, I have switched my cell off forever.

Its obvious to me that he has met up with his ex who lives in Italy..I'll spare you the details but even though he promised I wasn't a rebound relationship because he could see himself with me forever, I'm 98.7% sure that he's spending time with her and therefore doesn't know about me anymore. So he strings me along until he decides what he wants. Awesome.

So I wrote the core friends an email because I felt like such a dildo for sending emails professing love and attaching pictures of shiny really tall happy people holding hands. The responses I have gotten have kick started the healing process.

Here are some of the highlights for you:

Ric: (Talking about Bertrand's inevitable suicide by volleyball): "Some kind of ritual death by spiking where his team mates take turns to repeatedly slam the ball into his face until the court resembles the beginning of saving private ryan. Something like that. (Tom Hanks cameo optional...)"

Andy: "The girls in my office, who know your story from the last email, are devastated... will you let me be your man? I can sing that Wham song to you..."

Christine: "God I hate the French!"


Kristina: "But just think, this way you avoid freakishly tall kids, so it's really the best for all parties."

Jerry: "I wish I was there with you, a bottle of booze and a fist of meds to stroke your freshly ironed hair."

Rachel: "Did you send him that email? i hope he cries over his computer and it gets water damage, I hate volleyball."

I was going to send him this email I wrote that would make him cry. I've read and revised it so many times by now that I honestly couldn't tell if it was just the word tomato 400 times. I realized that the email I wrote to send him was really just for me to get everything off my chest. My sister "suggested" I not send him anything at all. My father agrees adding that this will make him feel "unsettled and uncomfortable." I like that.

So I won't send anything. I've switched off my phone. And I've changed my flight from Verona to the south of France.

Bertrand isn't a bad guy, he's just not terribly mature at 25 as I thought he was. He told me that his ex girlfriend was so jealous he couldn't talk to other women. "Its so nice being with you" he would tell me, "I never realized how easy a relationship could be."

I guess that makes him a loser.

your fan,


Thursday, 13 September 2007

Skinny Small Greek Wedding

I tried to get in as many professional pictures as possible, lets see if I make it in the Vogue spread.

The wedding was super fun, very low key and chill. Excellent music all night (not a Greek song at all) dancing at a tennis club spitting distance from the acropolis (ok, you'd have to be a mutant spitter), open air dance floor littered with b list Greek celebrities and fashionistas. And the guy that dropped me and Thanos home is an indie rock singer who's had a few number one hits in Greece and apparently sells out stadiums in minutes. I like him because he drove me home and I was a little drunkola.

Here are some highlights for you:

Check out my bling as I chill on lawn furniture before heading to the wedding:

The Groom

The Bride

Me and Eleni

Me and Thanos


Me and Kim, (the mad sweaty englishman)

The Last Thing I Remember..

your fan,


Saturday, 8 September 2007

Me Smelling

Greek plants growing on my father's terrace. Look how I am enjoying them. For those of you who know me, you will of course realize that this is just a cheap excuse to show off my freshly ironed hair. Oh Greeks, you understand my hair so.

Day 3 in the fatherland and if I never hear Greek music again... my father's a big fan and likes to blast it through the house at all hours. He tried to do this when he was married to my mom and it caused bitter rows. If it wasn't Greek music it was German opera, equally painful. My mother would say "that woman sounds like she got knifed in the gut" while my father would openly lament the fact that he had married outside of his race.

Speaking of which, tomorrow I'm going to a wedding of people I don't know. But the chick is a famous fashion designer and lots of celebs will be there, my friend Thanos whose cousin is marrying this chick assures me that the guest list will be internationaly fabulous. Greek Vogue are doing a 6 page spread on the event and I will try to bend and snap my way into as many pictures as possible. Don't have an outfit blingy enough for the event so here comes Sophia my dad's girlfriend to the rescue. She's really nice and younger than him and so should have some good stuff though like all Greek women, it will border on the Vegas showgirl. Maybe there will be a Versase...

Went to the beach today. Fell asleep with my chin touching my chest so have weird red stripy burn mark on neck. Woke up to screetching and nasal cords otherwise known as The Greek Woman Speaking. Some lady with watermellon boobs yelling after her fat grandson. Made Janice from Friends sound like the BBC World Service.

More soon.

your fan,


Wednesday, 5 September 2007


That's right. I'm off to Greece tonight.My dad is super excited as I don't get to see him on his turf all that often. I'll be there for 2 weeks, which means two weeks of hearing about how everything Greek is amazing, how I musn't forget that I am a Greek (like the fact that I can braid my leg hair isn't enough of a reminder) etc etc. But I'm totally looking forward to it. And I still have those meds..that aren't freaking me out as much anymore and the itching has mellowed too.

Oh happy coincidence, my friend Thanos who I know from university will be visiting his mom in Athens while I'm there. Here he is looking very inch the professor he is.
The last time I was in Athens, I bumped into Thanos walking down the street. He was visiting his mom then too. Turns out his mom is my dad's neighbor. This is totally uninteresting except for him and me. Anyway, Thanos and his excellent girlfriend Eleni (big fan of 80's montage too) will be in town most of my two weeks and I've been invited to his cousin's wedding on Sunday. Apparently Italian Vogue will be there. I'll be the one in the pasties looking bored.

My tan has faded to a pale walnut so glad I can top it off. Must get one of them 3 way mirrors.

News from the volleyball playing new man. He has hurt his ankle, so training has been reduced to doing crunches in the corner while the rest of the team get to run and jump.
"I haven't been able to touch a ball in over a week" he lamented while I wondered how to say "you said ball" in French. 19 days and counting until we are reunited in Verona. Hopefully his ankle will be healed so we can do that slow mo run in the airport.

Half an hour until the cab picks me up for the airport. I'm temping at reception in Maidenhead again. Its deathly quiet, everyone has gone home..and soon I will too.

I'm comin' papa!

Monday, 3 September 2007

Mellow Anxiety

I threw my back out. Carrying my suitcase through the tube and train stations of London on my way back from France. When I say suitcase I mean a large ghetto duffel bag that I throw over my shoulder without bending my knees or nuttin, cuz I'm a crazy fucking bitch.

My back starting hurting badly and that scares me considering the last time I had a back ache I temporarily lost the use of my legs. So I got a prescription for some muscle relaxers and painkillers and those who know me well will know how happy this makes me. My friend Gisela thinks prescription pills are tacky but I disagree, I think crack is tacky.

American doctors give percoset and vicodin so I was curious as to what my British counterpart would subscribe. Fearing "lots of fresh air and a stiff upper lip" I walked into the Dr's office with an exagerated limp and permanent pained expression. It worked, I limped out with a prescription for two types of meds, one with codeine and the other with good times.

But unlike vic and perc, these drugs are making me a little anxious while simultaneously chilling me out. Its a weird combo. So I'm mellow yellow but on edge and jumpy. But then get this, the other night I'm curled up on my mom's sofa watching the movie The Queen. Its super great by the way. So I'm sitting there watching and scratching - my scalp, eyelids, thighs and hands until it hits me that I have junkie itch. Like Jamie Foxx when he played Ray Charles in the hit movie Ray for which he won the oscar. Anyway, not cute.

My back feels better so I can decrease the meds but obviously I'll keep taking them until they are all gone.

your fan,


Thursday, 30 August 2007

He Plays with Balls

Some of you have heard about the new man. I've decided to blog him, make it offish. Of course if we break up in three weeks when I go see him, I'm totally gonna feel Aniston exposed. She's half Greek too, you know.

So Bertrand, pictured above. He was doing the underbite to amuse me, I told him how BFF Jenny and I in adolescance would do underbites. Once we had a really good one sticking out, we would ask each other out on a date.

Immediatly after taking this picture Bertrand asked "do you want to go out with me?" but the French accent added sex appeal thereby negating the desired affect.

I know what you're thinking and yes, he's a professional volleyball player based in Verona, Italy. When he isn't getting paid to work out, play with balls and other men, he plays World of WarCraft.


Some of you got an email from me when I got back from France that details celebrity frienships, new found romance and tan hue. This is a sample of the feedback I got from the NY posse.

Clay: "Your boyfriend is hot! You should try and pregnancy trap him, move back to your apartment. You could probably set up a volleyball net in there." (remember when Daryl Hannah fills up the tub with water and sea salt in Splash?)

Nico: "So glad to hear you're dating a hot athletic dude. He looks very cute in that 1x1 photo you sent."

Benjy: "What happened to the other Adonis? Did they duel for your love? In speedos? Wouldn't you love to parade him by Nader? Of course he would faint and them hump Bertrand's leg."

Anne: "Volleyball? Thats not gay at all!"

Kristina: "You didn’t mention your boyfriend is almost a minor. Sweet juvey summer loving!"

Gisela: "Can he read?"

I miss you all so much.

So Bertrand and I are getting along great and he wants me to move to Italy and he wants to come to NY in May when the volleyball season is over (they have seasons just like weather!) but if experience has taught me anything its that just cuz they seem in love doesn't mean they like you. And he's never seen me not tan. And World of WarCraft may become the other woman.

I'll keep you posted...

your fan,


Best of the British

The Sunday TV Times described the movie Forrest Gump as "an idiot has adventures."

Its good to be back in England.

I've also discovered Titty Bangbang, sketch comedy perfromed by two very talanted women. Here's one of them doing possibly the best Tom Cruise rip ever.

Impressive. Youtube everything they've done, you won't be disappointed.

Last night I watched "The Devil's Own" starring Harrison Ford, Brad Pitt and Brad Pitt's Irish accent. So Brad's IRA living in hiding at Harrison's house in the Jerse. Harrison's one of them American Irish with red headed children, catholisism and surprising access to Irish folk bands whenever he has a house party. The whole movie was so ridiculously EYERISH with continuous pan pipe jig music, I'm surprised the director didn't take it one step further and go for the green tinted camera screen.

For added hilarity I watched the movie with me ma who didn't understand anything Irish Pitt was saying and so obliterated "plot development" with "I don't understand one word that boy says" type commentary. A fair point, he just sounds like he's saying the word "shush" as a question over and over.

This morning over breakfast she said:

"you know what I like about that cute kid?" (she is randomly talking about Pitt - I know this without asking because I know her brain).

"What do you like about him, ma?"

"That he has scars on his cheek and they left them."

your fan,


Wednesday, 29 August 2007

My New BFF

So I'm back from my month and a half in France and loads of things happened, and yes I met someone special blah blah blah...a lot more importantly is the fact that Jerry, her twin sister Terry (non identical) and I became quite the threesome around the rose bottle.

It all started one champagne filled night around the heated pool of a Riviera villa (doesn't it always?) when reclining on deck chairs we chatted about my writing, men, her divorce, her kids, her career. She's hosting Britain's Next Top Model and is delighted cuz its a 2 day a week gig that pays well and for her working permit.

"You never became a British citizen?" I asked her.
"No, Mic is a tax exile so I couldn't get the nationality" she pronounces is "exaaale" and I don't even blink at the mention of Mic, such is my comfort level with celebrity.

Our friendship progressed to lunch at the beach we frequent to poetry readings at her house. Now here's something you didn't know. Jerry Hall writes hilarious, intelligent beautiful and dark poetry. I know! And apparently Mic is a sex addict. I know!

I read her some excerpts of my book (the one I'm busy not writing) and she said all the right things and made all the right noises but failed to provide useful tips, such as Harper Collins CEO's cell number.

Spent about 4 hours at her house, smoking her American spirits, drinking coffee - reading, talking, talking, talking. She encourages me to move to Verona, she thinks my new boyfriend is "very nice and cute", she pronounces it "naaace". Swoon.

So after readings and chats and smokes and coffee, we went back to the beach and swam and read and hugged and kissed and said "see you next year" as I was leaving the next day.

I know what you're thinking, there was no phone exchange, no email..its deeper than that people. She can't wait to buy my book.. "hurry up and wraaate it!" she said, "I can't wait to buy it! Whats your last name? Pila what? I can't wait to buy it."

I'm officially motivated.

your fan,


Monday, 2 July 2007

The 80's Asshole

So I was hanging out with my friend Raph yesterday and we got talking about Blond 80's Asshole, aka William Zabka - who was notabely the asshole from Cobra Cai but was also an asshole in Back to School staring Rodney Dangerfield and some dude no one has ever heard of since and remember Just one of the Guys? In that classic, his asshole speciality is lifting the lunch tables so that all the trays of food fall on the geeks sitting at the end of the bench. Take it, geeks.

check out the "Manpix" on the left, is it me or does he look a little too much like Princess Diana? (despite the cock buldge.) Anyway, I casually mentioned to Raph that I had a crush on Blond Asshole at some point in my adolescance and he freaked out kind of like when Peter freaks out at Jennifer Aniston in Office Space when he thinks she slept with his boss Lumberg. I admitted that the bigger crush was on Ralph Matchio (still to this day) and this calmed him.

Karate Kid is still in my top 10 favorite movies, it combines all of my favorite things...martial arts, montage, a championship of some kind, training, 80's music and of course Blond Asshole. Now movie assholes are all terrorists. Snore! I say bring back the 80's asshole, he needs to work again.

your fan,

I Make Myself Cringe

I just stood behind Stephen Merchant at Waitrose. He turned and looked at me and I wanted to say something like "I'm a big fan" without sounding like a tosser but couldn't and instead opted for the gurgling sound that left my throat which, if that wasn't bad enough, I followed with a limp "hey."

Naturally he said nothing in return and judging from the fact that I was buying Flora spread, ryvita and 2 kiwis, I really don't blame him.

Wednesday, 27 June 2007

Last Day as a Temp

So check out this woman I found on the corporate directory of the company I'm working at, she totally looks like Andew Lloyd Webber which begs the question that if you were a woman who looked just like Andrew Lloyd Webber, wouldn't you make sure you don't also have the exact same hairstyle?

I wrote down her mobile number and might crank call her later, sing Phantom of the Opera numbers and hang up.

Its my last day at the pharmacutical firm where I have become buddies with Ricki who shares the reception desk with me. Yes of course he's gay. Today we went to a pub lunch in Maidenhead in his convertable mini, it was almost fun. We had deep chats over sandwiches. He said goodbye to me just now a touch verklempt, he wants to know how things develop with the adonis.

So speaking of which, I've booked my one way Toulon bound ticket for next Tuesday July 3rd (happy birthday Anna Lawton) and am starting to plan outfits and rehearse breezy international woman of mystery aloofness. The night vision goggles have arrived so I can crouch in the bushes outside the restaurant where the adonis works and watch him until dawn (which is strange because he only works until 11pm).

Ryan Air (ghetto air) that I am flying only allow 15 kilos of luggage which translates into 3 books and a shoe. I am not known to travel light so this may be a problem, luckily most of the clothing I am bringing is made of string and mesh.

My mother has gone to Greece for a wedding and is staying for 10 days at a friend's beautiful house complete with pool and Eastern European servants. This means I have her place to myself, so I can just let loose and watch TV and go to bed. Punk rock.

Time for me to sign off. 6pm and I have receptionist duties to perform, like switching off the coffee machine and locking up the closets. Killer.

This morning as I walked to work I saw a duck waddling up the stairs of a Thai Restaurant, "don't do it!" I screamed. It was a total real life Far Side moment and I had no one to witness it.

Ok, time to lock closets using keys.

your fan,


Monday, 18 June 2007

I'm a Temp in Maidenhead

Before I start, I'd just like to speak to all those people in the tube or subway that swing their arms unnecessarily far behind them when they walk:



I hate you.

Latest news from me thus, am temping in and around Maidenhead offices as a receptionist. Seeeexxxxy.

As a new female in the office environment, I generate some amount of curiosity (from older men) who like to lean against the front desk where I operate and ask me where in Canada I'm from. One visiting Royal Mail Associate went so far as to peer over the desk, scan my figure and ask me how many times I go to the gym because I'm so very thin.

We are now dating.

So my job. It consists of picking up the phone and answering it and then transferring calls, oh and asking the callers their names and what company they are calling from.

I also do mail and filing.

All the companies are amazed with the rapidity with which I pick up information and by the professionalism of my phone manner. I considered doing the English "sing song" voice as an inside joke with myself but didn't for fear that it would kill the part of my brain that controls dancing.

I am an expert filer. I read labels and then slot papers into the appropriate pigeon holes that are also labelled.

I'm like, the smartest person to have temped in these places as evidenced by the caliber of temp I have encountered on my various job placements.

Sample Temp (sharing reception desk with me): "Dis job is well easy cuz they leave you alone innit but I 'ate doin' mail (pronounced mayew) cuz all de names are foreign. So where you from then, Maiden'ead?"

Me: "Canada"

Sample Temp: "Right."

This will kill the conversation.

Usually, I will be alone at the receptionist desk (like now) with no phone ringing ever and no one bothering me so I'm literally getting paid to write and read The New Yorker online. Highbrow.

Less highbrow is the webcam of the southern French beach I check at regular intervals to see if I can spot the adonis I'm convinced is my townie destiny. It reeks of stalkerism. I am also checking the weather conditions and picturing my life as it will be in a few weeks time.

The projection of my life in a few weeks time goes as follows:

-Wake up around 8am, yoga to bossa nova followed by granola consumption.
-Pack bag for beach and sit on terrace contemplating sea view.
-Go to beach 11am. Tan. Read. Swim. Reflect. Hydrate. Stare at the adonis walking out of the water, possibly establish contact. Drink rose at beach bar with Alex, Pierre and Simon that work there.
-Walk home around 7pm. Shower, dinner, sit at terrace, write showstopping prose and discover meaning of life.

Current reality sees me sitting behind a desk answering calls about needle extensions from multiple sclerosis nurses called John.

your fan,


Thursday, 14 June 2007

Visons of Maidenhead

Grabbed a sandwich and bottle of Pellegrino and parked my vintage dress on a bench in the Maidenhead high street today at the height of the midday rush. Eating proved difficult, bits of roast chicken falling on my lap as a procession of ugly flip flopped past in all states of completely terrible.

Office workers in spandex that details every buldge, mole and body pimple. Unisex beer guts hanging out as their oblivious owners stroll around unabashed, making no attempt to adjust their clothing. Mountains of rippling pink flesh squeezed into summer nylon, swollen trotters shoved into all manner of open toed and square heeled footwear.

Then I started noticing the disabilities: facial tics, Downs, all varieties of limps ranging from pulled muscle to polio, Jesus, was Maidenhead built on a toxic dump?

Actually, that was Slough.

The fashions are almost Eastern European bad. Like that guy who stood across from me smoking a cigarette with one leg leaning back on the wall like beginners pose A from the Cool Manual. Tight flurescant orange t-shirt festooned with gold chain acoutrement, black jogging trousers, those snug sneakers favored by clyclists that I abhore for casual wear (sorry Europe), black stringy mullet under the baseball cap and faded blue ink tattoo of something nationalistic.

You know you've been watching too much reality trash when you look at people and perform mental plastic surgery on them. Then you picture them with post op bandanges, like even if they are talking to you. Namely it's chin implant gauze, nose job plaster and that foamy stuff that wraps the head up preventing total feature collapse.

Anyway, I shouldn't make fun of Maidenhead. New York is no better. Every day you'd witness 400 pounds of ugly walking by in fringe and mesh. Oh relax, I'm not being mean to the fat & unfashionable, I just think people should know their bodies and dress accordingly - except for starving artists like Nicole Ritchie who should just die and be placed in small pink coffins light enough for La Lohan to carry.

So how do we think Paris is faring? She might be killed by murder or die of being surrounded of things that "aren't hot." Either way she'll definately be scarred in all ways but if she makes it out(and I'm sure she will), she'll have redeemed herself somewhat through her public suffering and I guarantee will be less hateful to the public. Maybe she'll even start championing small black people causes. Then again, maybe she'll fly to Monaco on a private jet.

And who am I to make fun of anyone anyway? I'm temping as a receptionist in Maidenhead. True this is aiding my prolongued summer in the south of France and true its better than watching daytime TV but still, its super loserish.

At least I'm dressed well.

Your fan,


Tuesday, 12 June 2007

Neo Nazis Eat Peanut Butter!

Last night I watched American History X for the first time in years. I was surprised by how dated it was, how full of holes and stereotypes (my favorite being the "nice black guy" in the jail who says "aiet" after EVERY SINGLE SENTENCE.)

What can I say peoples? Like Mariah, it ain't ageing well.

Still, my appreciation of Ed Norten's acting (body) prevailed, as did my fondness for voice over narration, prison flashbacks and neo nazi anything. And lets talk about the big sharpie swaztika tattoo for a second. So obviously sharpie!! You know they probably hired an artist to sharpie it on his body. I would have sharpied it for free.


Once upon a Brooklyn evening I sat channel flipping and came across a marathon of American neo nazis documentaries on Bravo. It was a great moment to be alive knowing that the next few hours of my life were going to be utterly enthralling. Kind of like finding $20 when you're broke and jonesing. Anyone?

Sure, we've seen enough documentaries about the original Nazis, all grainy black and white - Hitler screaming into microphones blah blah blah but I want to know whats going on today in bold colour.

So I watch neo nazis like they're monkeys that have been taught to ride byclicles, always amazed by the normal human things they do, "dear Lord, they're eating peanut butter on wholewheat!" What if a black made the bread? Can they eat bagels?

Usually, inbetween the hate rants (Jews are the worstest) they tuck their blond babies to sleep and sing them little lullabies about White Power, aaaawww. I'm fascinated by the Nazi memorobilia that one can purchase online and have delivered to Arkansas. Flags, bedspreads, coasters, 3rd Reich underwear.

Remember when Louis Theraux went to go meet them? For those of you in the States, he's this spindly English reporter who looks like he should be in a cafe somewhere in the East Village in a black turtleneck reading poetry with cow bell aid. I'm a little in love with him and he looks Jewish but isn't. So he's out there visiting neos, going to marches and listening in on speaches looking like an extra from Seinfeld. Awesome.

Plus he met Lamb and Lynxe, the young Britney Spears twin version for the Nazi world. Amazing.

It must be hard on the neo nazi kids, growing up in such a restricted community, kind of like being Amish but with anger and junk.

your fan,


Monday, 11 June 2007

5 Things of no Socio-Political Importance I Hate

(in no non socio-political order)

1. Hello! magazine type photo spreads of barefoot "famous" people in their homes. Always barefoot! Always pink toes imbedded in the cream carpet, because nothing says "I'm at home" like going sockless. Well it makes me sick. Unless its a beach house, put some fucking shoes on!
I have the same complaint for British couch commercials.

2. That Dudely Moore is dead.

3. That Celine Dione is alive.

3. Connecticut.

4. Keira Knightly's jaw.

5. Public breast feeding, put your milk tits away you crunchy bitch.

more soon. I hate many things.


Friday, 8 June 2007


I've been watching this for years. Never gets old.

Last night I dreamt that Will Ferrell was my best friend and we were going to dress up as cast members of the Fame Academy for Halloween. To honor Will and his presence in my subconscious, here's a little taster of his genuis, especially the fashion dude Zoolander was based on.

your fan,



How ghettto is a Mcdonalds with a boarded up window?

Local Chinese food, bitches!


French people will not eat here

Wednesday, 6 June 2007

Bon Temps

May 21st to June 4rth in Pictures

Getting Ready

The Wedding

The Sign I Made

Hungover Cousins the Day After

Wedding Cake Breakfasts

The Beach I Go To

People I Hang out With

Rino Del-Roio

The Man Who Gave me Beer

and rose

The Man Who Took Me Out To Dinner When His Girlfriend Was Out of Town

Am going back in on the tan, the novel and the quality of life. Eventually I will get a job and return to somewhere but for the moment, France beckons.

votre fan,