Monday, 30 April 2007

My Mother Looking like Karl Lagerfeld

So check out this picture of my mom sleeping looking just like Karl Largerfeld and then I'll stop going on about her, I swear.. but she's just a constant source of amusement. Anyway, I showed her the picture once she had awoken and she totally agreed. Seriously, all that’s missing is the starched collar, the fan and Posh Spice.

Posh gets picked on so much its unreal. And now it’s my turn. Yeah, she looks like an insect making a “sucking on lemon” face (though Rene Zellweger wins the prize with her “sucking on bag of lemons and salt” face.) My friend Benjy does a perfect imitation of “the Rene”.

Even though I am appalled by pictures of Victoria in tiny little white shorts with her legs looking like my arms, is it totally awful that I wish I was twice as fat as her? (i.e half my actual weight.) She’s supposed to make me angry, women’s magazines blah blah, eating disorders, Nicole Ritchie’s impending death… but instead I reach for my bottle of water and think “yes, I’ll eat egg whites and tuna fish for breakfast.”
I can’t be too mad at Posh, since falling from fame she’s made a successful career out of being herself, has dealt with being Britain’s Anna Nicole (RIP) type punching bag and has had to deal with a husband prettier than her. That’s just got to make you lose your appetite.

In Hollywood the Beckhams will be treated like royalty cuz Californians will never realize that the only thing "posh" about Posh is nothing and they will forgive David for his voice because he’s beautiful. Sadly, his voice will deny him a movie career unless he gets vocal training and/or vocal cord surgery. I think I’ve just predicted the future. You heard it here first.

So right now I’m in a Starbucks in Belsize Park North London, the nucleus of all that which I consider evil (Starbucks not Belsize Park) and I hate myself. The only reason I am here is because I thought they would have free wireless internet like they do in the States and I’m jobless and working in dollars in the UK - feel Eastern European but with smaller boobs, a thicker waist, a prettier face and a weaker work ethic.

So this was the 5th “coffee establishment” I walked into to ask if they had free wireless and the (Polish) counter associate mis-understood my use of the word “free.” I ordered a Venti caffe latte and a bottle of water and $40 later I’m realizing that wireless is $10 an hour. Now I’m one of those people typing into their laptops in the window of a Starbucks.

And I’m friggin’ surrounded by babies. Like brand new babies with their heads hanging at that weird newborn angle, still shiny from placenta.

your greatest fan,


Saturday, 28 April 2007

I wish I looked like my mom...

Can you say Bond Girl? The botton one is my mom in the 60's (the one where she doesn't have silver hair and looks older). She was about my age...oh alright, she was younger than me right now. Ridiculous.

And she doesn't have an underbite (the "different kind of pretty" as my friend Kristina calls it) its just the straw action messing with her jaw line. Her perfect jaw line.

The "after" picture was taken last October, dancing with her cousin at his daughter's wedding.

And she's Egyptian, can you stand it?

When she was younger she totally looked like French 60's icon Francoise Hardy and used to get mistaken for her all the time and I think even signed some autographs but thank god never took it far enough to sing publicly cuz her vocal ability is so, shall we say so "poor," I would rather listen to Celine Dion cover ACDC songs for a month.

So I'm like a watered down ugly version but sometimes I look like her for like 2 seconds from certain angles. In a dark room. I'll post a picture of me soon enough then you can be the judge. Everyone says my older sister looks like her but she totally doesn't. I do! For like 2 seconds. In a dark room.

So now my mom is a lot older but she still looks better than me. Its amazing, the woman ages perfectly though I don't mind sharing that she sleeps with a little roller at the top of her head and sometimes when I spend the night at her house (in Maidenhead) I like to tap her on it when I kiss her goodnight. It makes her laugh. She says the roller gives her hair "movement" since its short and that makes me think of bowel movements.

I'm your greatest fan,


Day 1

Day 1
I thought the day I updated my myspace page after one year of membership might as well be the day I start blogging. Am considering getting a mobile phone while I'm at it and one of them compact disc players. Then I'll be dope instead of wack.

So I laboured over the title of my blog site for like a whole minute and everything I thought of was even more crap. I was only recently made aware of the fact that the word "maidenhead" is oldern language for virginity. Who the hell knew? Not this girl. Thank god I'm not a virgo or I'd feel like a double slut.

So growing up in Maidenhead (15 years of my life total) sucked for several reasons but was also awesome cuz everyone was unattractive which could potentially make you feel like a total super model, except me cuz I was pretty ugly as a teen - scrawny, frizzy hair, I just blended, but my older sister who never had an awkward stage ever was like friggin' Iman in a town full of Oprahs (big Oprahs sans diamonds).

I'm not black by the way, neither is my sister but I wanted to show how totally racially unaware I am by making that analogy. And I love you Oprah even though you have lost touch with reality "everyone should own one of these Donna Karen cashmere leggings, at $300 they're a steal, I own 700," (not a direct quote.)

Maidenhead is a weird town because its half Chenoble half Paradise (see picture above). So the high street, or main drag is a curious mixture of Vicky Pollards and Nigella Lawsons. The Vicky Pollards or chavs or whatever the British are calling common people today (yes, I have spent an equal portion of my life in America, can you..uum, like, tell?) used to all hang out outside McDonalds, smoke fags while bottle feeding their brown babies Fanta. The Nigella's would pop into Marks & Sparks for a spot of shopping or perhaps Boots to collect their pain killer prescription for that ghastly horse riding accident, fabulous! The pain killers, not the horse (as if).

So now you know everything about me. This is like free therapy without the drugs (adderall I want and crave you). Be patient while I figure out how to make this more interesting. I may give up totally and/or change the blog title if I receive lots of hate mail from angered Maidenheadians.

I'm your greatest fan.