Sunday, September 28, 2008

Stuff I'm Up For

Choke
Alice in Wonderland (Favourite fairy tale, favourite director, favourite actor. Eeeeeeeek)


Conseil


Basically Bladder Boudoir is a hive of activity. There are emails left, right and centre coming from all sorts wanting some Bladder blarney in their life. In the main though, it's adoration for my truth nuggets and requests for advice. Obviously I have some famous subscribers. I'm not going to tell you who they are. Privacy and all that. But one is Daisy Lowe.

And it's good to see that she pays attention to what I post...in fact fuck it. I'll let you in to a little of my email exchange.

From: daisylowe@googlemail.com
Subject: Nipple Pasties
Date: 24 September 2008 21:52:22 BDT
To: missbladder@googlemail.com

OMG Miss B you have like just totally made up my mind about whether to do the AP perfume show. I wasn't sure. I thought maybe nipple pasties might go against your principles and you know I never want to upset you but it's all good! You like them too! I mean, Mummy doesn't have a problem with them but lets face it - she lives in the country making cushions out of lace with a caravan in the back garden. She's not London anymore. You wouldn't understand though. You're not from her world.

I do still have a little problem. You are so much fitter than me and you know, look 100x better naked than me so when I'm walking down the runway all I'll be thinking is, "This should be Miss B, this should be Miss B". I just don't know what to do. XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

From: missbladder@googlemail.com
Subject: Re: Nipple Pasties
Date: 24 September 2008 23:22:47 BDT
To: daisylowe@googlemail.com

Daise!!!! Long time no speak. First off, let me congratulate on how far you've come with the old spelling and punctuation. That first email you sent me that I just couldn't read because of the sheer number of grammatical errors is now just a distant memory (well, it isn't. But I have to put it to the back of my mind though otherwise I want to vomit. Everywhere. Take solace in the fact that Wino is too browned up to even consider the importance of a full stop).

Also, so sorry to hear about Mark. How you holding up? Deleted all his contact details in a post break up rage yet? If not, don't suppose you could help a sister out and hook me up with his phone number could you? I heard he is quite the producer and I'm looking to him to produce something so you know, hit me up with that shit. Haha. Only joking. But you know, a little bit serious so well, you get the idea.

Anyway. AP. Wow. So the catfight with Moss paid off then? Can I just remind you I wasn't the one to advocate a mud wrestling match in front of Stuart Rose, the victor then securing the modeling contract. Call me old fashioned. Anyway, what's done is done I guess. So on to your fears. Well you know me. I tell it like it is. And you're right. It should be me up there. But my mum isn't as famous as yours so I'm not quite as high profile. So instead of thinking how fabulous I look naked when you're on the runway think about your mum instead and you'll be fine! Hope that helps. By the way, I find your overuse of x and o as some sort of illustration of affection somewhat irritating. And I'm guessing I'm not the only one. Just some ad hoc, uncalled for advice there. You can have that one for free.

Good luck on Thursday. Remember. It should be me up there. x

Still no reply but I did my best. Sometimes you have to let 19 year olds figure it out for themselves. And try to remember that she is only slightly behind me on the path to her young, nubile breasts eventually ending up on the floor.

Because I've always got my advice hat on so to speak this sometimes spills over in to my real life life too. I've taken one particular girl under my wing. She continually has boyfriend trouble so we all have a bash at counselling her at lunch time. I know what you're thinking. Miss B, who are you to give boyfriend advice when everyone you ever went out with up until about 18 months ago were real shits? I can't argue with that but everyone knows that no one follows their own advice. Also, if you've spoken to me about this, at length, when I'm drunk, you'll know I've implemented a one strike and you're out policy for the important things - like cheating, cussing the threads, asking me how many pairs of shoes I have - stuff like that. So now I'm perfectly able to discuss other people's relationships. However, it appears I have quite a tolerance for her boyfriend's high jinks so my advice isn't always really welcome. The last piece I gave shocked and appalled everyone present. First off. I don't see the problem with her boyfriend daring to go out with his guy pals for a night out and leave her at home. Shocked everyone. They think I'm a disgrace to females everywhere. Then he tried to make it up to her by asking her if it was okay if they had sex when he came in. All the ladies in the room squawked in disgust at this. I didn't squawk and I actually think I offered the most practical solution;

"What did you say? Go have a wank in the shower and when you come out we'll talk about it, that way we're all winners?

WHAT???? NO! My boyfriend doesn't wank. He has me.

Yeah. Course he doesn't love. He had to ask to have sex with you and then you turned him down."

Come on. That or squawking. Which would you prefer? Also, it shut them up squawking so I killed two birds with one stone. So to speak. Well, three birds actually. None of them are talking to me now. Back of the net.

In less shocking news:

This week I have mostly been listening to -

Kings of Leon - Only by the Night ("Understated masterpiece" - BunnyBoy)
Ladyhawke - Ladyhawke ("80s revival goodness mmmmm" - MissB)

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Merise Noir

So when Seventh Tree came out was everyone like, OMG, WTF, LOL, ROFL, come again, where has their electro sound gone that I'm totally in love with?

And then did everyone watch Christina Aguilera and be all like, oh THAT'S where it's gone...and I frickin love it.

Excellent choice of haircut too. Bravo. 

Monday, September 15, 2008

Voleur

"Sorry about my language but really what sort of cunt would do that? Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh sorry I said the c word again didn't I? But seriously, what a bunch of cocks. Oh sorry, can I not say cock? Yes. 403032. COW? What's my address?"

That's pretty much what I slurred down the phone at half five/six o clock on Sunday morning to my bank. Obviously, I can't really remember doing this. Nor do I remember getting to the Engine Room. Nor do I remember when exactly I noticed my wallet was missing but gone it was. Basically I was Amy Winehouse without the massive beehive. Or track marks. And I want to cry. I am so sad my wallet is gone because I loved my little old lady purse. It was also (already) full of notes and titbits I'd accumulated that I can't bear to throw away. Boo. I don't even care about the cards and the £40 that was in it. Although it'll teach me to stop getting so fucking drunk.

As if having my wallet taken wasn't indignity enough I wasn't even allowed to wallow in my own self pity (and raging hangover) on Sunday. I was dragged to the park for a BBQ. Which was actually quite pleasant. Apart from Gary bringing both his guitars. The reason? Just in case I grow another set of arms. Riiiiiight. 

What I do remember, however, is Cow and me thanking everyone profusely. Arms wide open. Telling people how we just can't express our gratitude enough. Basically, we watched Barack Obama's acceptance speech and counted how many times he said thank you (I read a fucking shocking article about Sarah Palin. Did you know whilst in office in Alaska she made women who were raped pay for their own HIV tests? In fact, don't get me started on HOW anti-women she is) and decided to emulate his charisma to anyone that was nice to us. I think the barmen were particularly appreciative. Then we tried to out thank you him (31. That's the number to beat). I'm not sure if we managed it. 

So I have something quite shocking to say. I'm canceling September. Fuck September. It has brought nothing but trouble. So........31 days to Hallowe'en. I love dressing up for Hallowe'en me. Pumpkins. Yay. 

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Apathique

It's been a shit week. Right now I can't even be bothered to attempt to put a hilarious spin on it. My shitty week has been exacerbated by the fact that I've entered one of my low phases. For anyone that actually knows me this isn't a new phenomena but they have been getting fewer and more far between since my teens. It is highly probable that the two things occurring together are symptomatic of and dependent on each other. Hopefully I'll snap out of it soon. I'll have to at least make some sort of effort on Wednesday as I'm going to see a house share and I'm not sure these random girls would even entertain the idea of living with a girl who hasn't bothered to get dressed since Friday. Or washed her hair. Or put on her make up. 

Something that has also inexplicably pissed me off is Facebook. It's stupid and childish but I was perturbed to note that someone I used to work with friended my sister. Generally I couldn't give a flying fuck who friends my sister - we have loads of mutual friends who are say actually my friend but they've met her at mine and chatted shit at each other but are not really 'friends'. This guy, however, she has met once. In the pub. And they barely spoke. It's not even that that pisses me off. It's who it is. I'm not going to package this up. He is a fucking mental. He writes shit on my wall from time to time and sends me private messages full of offensive drivel constantly. I completely ignore these and only don't unfriend him because the fall out would be more hassle than it's worth....and he could still private message me. I do not want him doing the same to my sister. So I text her and ask her why she friended him. Her reply? I recognised the name so said okay. Well. That's alright then. I'll make sure Rosemary West friends her. Seriously. How completely irrational can I behave at the moment?

Then there's Hayley's leaving do at the weekend. I'm unsure if I can even be fucked to go to Brighton in this mood and pretend I'm okay (no one likes a misery guts). I know this has been an unusually candid post as the very thought of revealing any feeling of relevant importance scares the living daylights out of me but maybe it's time for me to actually say what's on my mind as opposed to batting out flippant answers to questions I'm afraid to answer. And maybe I should be more candid with people in general. There's a thought.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

La Langue

Basically I wrote in  using loads of pseuydonyms. Except for the ones that were corrected. Obviously. C.Matthews, Birmingham, UK - you are a laughing stock.