Fashion Avenger

Dear Woman Who Was Sitting Across From Me On The Victoria Line Last Night,

I kind of don't know where to start here.

I think that you're trying to be kooky. That your carefully cultivated persona is that of "kooky girl". But not just any kooky girl. Kooky girl who likes Tigger.

Now, I understand this. Who doesn't like Tigger? I'm more of an Eeyore girl, myself, but to each his own. But ... how to put this?

It's one thing to be five years old and insist that Tigger is on every item of your clothing. It's charming in a five year old. My cousin used to insist that ketchup was on every single thing she ate. It was cute. If she was still doing that now, seventeen years later? Not charming.

What's cute in a five year old is rarely cute in an adult.

And you, dear lady on the Victoria Line, you are an adult. You are too old to be wearing, in a single outfit, the following: Tigger socks, a Tigger t-shirt and a denim handbag with a pink sparkly drawing of Tigger on it. It's not kooky. It's weird.

The socks on their own with a pair of jeans and a normal shirt? Sure, why not. Wacky socks are kind of 1995, but they're essentially inoffensive.

The t-shirt with jeans and unnoticeable socks and a normal bag? Less acceptable, but I'd give it a pass. For all I know, it could be laundry day and this was the last clean shirt you had. I probably wouldn't even notice.

The bag on its own? Could easily be ironic and would therefore perfectly acceptable.

The whole deal together? Oh sweetie, no.

You don't look kooky. You look crazy. You look like a grown woman who is obsessed with a children's cartoon character. You look like you might easily have twenty eight ginger cats at home, and you might call them your babies and they might all be named Tigger.

Do you want to be that lady?

Remember - kooky in moderation is a good thing. And, hey. It could have been worse. You could have been wearing Tigger earrings and a Tigger jacket as well.

Good luck. If you need it, I'm sure there's some kind of 12 step Tigger addiction program you can join.

All the best,

Alice

Things that drive me up the wall: Part 3,384

I work in a pretty small office. I don't like to talk about work too much here, because "talking about" would most likely mean "bitching about", and since a simple Google search for my name will get you here, I'd rather not get fired if it all comes down to it.

But currently, the following people are in the office for the entire day, every day: me. Other people pop in and out as their meetings/edits/shoots/etc. allow. But for a very large portion of the time, it's just me alone with the radio.

I don't mind this - I really don't. It lets me be just get on with things and not have to worry about anyone else. And all the popping in and out doesn't bother me at all.

EXCEPT.

There's one temperature control in this room. And it's generally set at the temperature that I, as the person who is always here, prefer. This is what's generally known as "room temperature".

But apparently, my room temperature doesn't work for some of the people I work with. And that's fine. I don't mind a temperature change, from time to time.

EXCEPT.

When they come into the room, sit down, then immediately get up to either turn off the heater completely or change the temperature drastically.

And do they say, "Hey Alice, I'm just going to turn off the heat - is that okay with you?"

No. No, they do not. They just adjust without any regard for the other people sharing the room.

And it drives me freaking crazy. It happens all the time. And it wouldn't be so bad, because it would just be temporary.

EXCEPT.

Without fail, they will then leave the room without turning the heat back on. So, I have to constantly be getting up to make sure the office is HEATED when it is COLD outside.

So annoying!

A little thing, I know. But seriously, people. Common courtesy! It's not so hard!

Books

I'm a book addict. I always have been, and I'm fairly sure I always will be. I buy books. Borrowing doesn't work for me. I need to own them.

My delicious friend Miss Sarah K sent me a birthday present, which I received today. A book - The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop by Lewis Buzbee. I just started reading it, and there on page 9 was the exact reason I buy books.

For the last several days I've had the sudden and general urge to buy a new book. I've stopped off at a few bookstores around the city, and while I've looked at hundreds and hundreds of books in that time, I have not found the one book that will satisfy my urge. It's not as if I don't have anything to read; there's a tower of perfectly good unread books beside my bed, not to mention the shelves of books in the living room I've been meaning to reread. I find myself, maddeningly, hungry for the next one, as yet unknown. I no longer try to analyze this hunger; I capitulated long ago to the book lust that's afflicted me most of my life. I know enough about the course of the disease to know I'll discover something soon.

It's like Lewis Buzbee can see inside my head! That's just how I feel about books.

I just remembered something I hadn't thought of in ages. When I was about 8 or 9, my friend Heather was having a garage sale. She'd asked all of us if we had anything we'd like to donate, and I volunteered a bunch of books I'd already read. When I got home, I remember being overcome with anxiety and stress and just generally freaking out - I needed the books back and I needed them immediately. Fortunately I was of an age where my mom could solve my problems, and she went over to Heather's house and got them back. She might have even bought them back, now that I think about it.

I may be a good 20 years older now, but I still feel the same way about my books.

Long story short, books are awesome. And I need to go book shopping.

So. Very. Tired.

I'm absolutely exhausted today.

I had this whole thing I was going to write, full of deep and insightful thoughts on turning 29 and entering the last year of my twenties, and all sorts of stuff on how 28 was a year of change what with buying a flat and moving and having friends leave my life and gaining new ones and getting kittens and whatnot.

But you know what?

I'm too tired for that foolishness.

It's probably jetlag, although I got back from LA on Saturday, so you'd think my body would be back on UK time by now.

You'd be wrong, but I could see how you'd think that.

Waking up and getting out of bed and getting into work today was one of the hardest things I've ever done. There is nothing I wanted more than to turn my alarm off, kick the kittens out of my room (because they insist on lying on top of me in the mornings, and it makes it hard to sleep) and go back to sleep. But because I have some vague sense of work ethics, I decided that I should probably come in.

I am taking Friday off though. Which means I just have to get through today and tomorrow and then I'll be free to sleep as long as I want.

That's going to be hard though.

I'm too tired to do music cue sheets, which is what I should be doing. I'm exhausted and it's just not happening. I'm too tired to concentrate.

I'm also too tired to read things on the internet, apparently, because I've had this post open for like an hour and a half, and haven't managed to get past the first few sentences. I'm just too tired for that level of focusing.

However, I am not too tired for internet shopping. You see, I need a few things before delightful flatmate-to-be Julia moves in. I'm also thinking about seeing how much it will cost to replace the windows in my flat with double glazing, because that's more energy efficient and I lose a lot of heat through the windows now. And I could use a few ideas on what to do with the bathroom when I get it all fixed up.

Today seems like the perfect day to do all those things.

But if anyone asks, I'm doing music cue sheets.

Happy Birthday to me!

It's my birthday!

Yay!

I celebrated by sleeping for 15 hours last night. Sweet.

It's been a hectic week in LA, and I had a bit of a drunken mini-breakdown at the end of the night after filming was all finished, but I think that was more parts tiredness and stress than actual work unhappiness. And the drunk certainly didn't help.

But happy birthday to me!

29, eh? You'd almost think I'm a grown up.

Clearly, you would be wrong, I can see how you would think that.

I plan on celebrating with dinner with the girls tonight and then a festive evening of karaoke filled festivities next Saturday. You'll note that gives me a full birthday week! Clever, no?

And, did I mention?

Happy birthday to meeeeeeeeeeeeee!