Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Rachel's Bafta Reviews

I have access to the films that are up for BAFTA nominations "for your consideration" - and the person who these DVD's are supposed to go to, probably won't watch them so it is up to me to make choices for the BAFTA Awards Ceremony in 2011.

I've seen a few movies - here is my review:

(First up though - the most entertaining part of these movies is the screen that comes on saying 'after watching this can you please snap in half/self destruct'.. I mean, It's not like Dr Claw is going to get a hold of them and rig the BAFTA's, and I am not Inspector Gadget, so let's not continue with this charade)

127 Hours. Danny Boyle directs James Franco in the story of Aron 'got no hand' and his being trapped by a rock for 127 hours.

James Franco is on my 'I would leave my husband for this man' list - so he gets my Best Actor Vote regardless. However Danny Boyle's shitty direction makes this barely watchable, you would think he would have enough faith in the audience to find the story of a guy cutting his own arm off with blunt pliers would be sufficient, but noooooooo he has to do all tricky camera angles and split screen effects. Maybe that shit works with povo Indian kids living a fast paced lifestyle on a flea dump in Mumbai, but James Franco coming to terms with drinking his own pee and cutting his arm tendons is riveting enough for me.

MY PREDICTION: the rock that traps his hand gets Best Supporting Actor

True Grit. The Coen Brothers and Jeff Bridges, and Matt "trying to be Heath Ledger" Damon.

In a nutshell: Blah Blah Blah. Ponies. Blah Blah Blah Eyepatch.

Josh Brolin is the best thing in this because he is what?? 50 years old and still shaggable. Unfortunately he only has about 20 mins of screen time.

This movie is however a remake of a John Wayne of the same plot in 1969. Same eyepatch, Same Western Dust in everyone's eyes. Not Impressed Coens.

MY PREDICTION: The Eyepatch gets the Best Costume Award.

Hereafter: AKA: Clint Eastwood is losing his mind.

Imagine 'The Sixth Sense 2" and there are no ghosts, no scares, and rather than Bruce Willis solving crimes and helping disturbed children, it's Matt Damon going to Cooking Lessons.

MY PREDICTION: Matt Damon never works again in this town.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

I was robbed!!!!!!!!!!!!!! oh wait...

I was robbed, and it's all Starbucks' fault. Let me state first up that I fully intend to stop going on about Starbucks Eggnog, but it has been an entity that has taken up my life these past two months. The nightmare currently being that there is no Eggnogg mix anywhere at any of the starbucks' in London. They have run out. What a bunch of freakin monkeys - you only have eggnog once a year, is it too much to ask that you supply enough for the people who only drink at Starbucks 2 months a year to get their eggnog fix?? They have no eggnog in North London, East London, and now West London. I went to my trusty 'always has eggnog' starbucks this morning only to be told that they had literally just ran out... fuckers. Now what am I supposed to do?? I had to settle for a stupid festive Toffee Nut Latte, and let me tell you it was a festival let-down.

Nothing beats Nogg!!!!!!! Nothing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then I went to the gym on my unwanted stupid Toffee Nut Caffeine High. Caffeine is probably the only drug in the world that I have an averse reaction to. I could be shooting up heroin right now and I would feel great - Caffeine however makes me feel sick, paranoid and clearly hallucinogenic. Which is why Eggnog is the only drink with coffee in it that I can drink, because I think the Eggnogg disguises the caffeine and makes it ok for me to drink... stupid No Nogg!

anyway - back to the story (screw you starbucks!! one last time)

So I'm at the gym, working out, sweating it up, listening to M.I.A pretending that I am a rap star and that I would give all my money to cure African Aids Babies if I ever made it..

"no no, I don't need the money - just save those AIDS babies.." and eventually I would be Rolling Stone Magazine 'Woman of the Year' for making fully sic music, but also curing Aids Babies.

I live this daydream in my head for my entire workout because if I'm not daydreaming something fantastical I can't stand a second on those stupid cross training machines. I secretly hate the gym.. but don't tell the gym that.

I finish my work out and go to get my stuff out of my locker, when I walk up to it, and I think "SHIT!! my padlock is missing!" I freak out and look around all the lockers around me, hoping that my stuff will miraculously appear if I open the same door 15 times.

Fuck. So I walk to reception and tell them that my locker was broken into and my stuff was stolen and that I've been robbed!!! On Christmas Eve!!! Robbed!!! Call Yo Police!!

After I am done having my robbery meltdown, a tiny voice in my head, the voice that has been in a caffeine headlock, the voice of reason quietly pipes up...

"perhaps you put your stuff in a different locker..... idiot"

Hmm perhaps indeed, so I go back to the scene of the crime, and cross over to the other side of the locker room where two naked ladies are shooting the shit with their junk all over the place. And I see my other regular locker.. with my padlock on it.

Fuckity Fuck Fuck.

I open it and yep, all my stuff is in there.. not stolen. There is only one thing to do - go back to reception and admit that I am a fucktard who has caffeine paranoia and caused a robbery scene for nothing...

Except that would be way too embarrassing so I just pretend that my stuff was taken out and rummaged through and dumped on the ground, and continue the charade of the robbery, which I have downgraded to a "Christmas prank"

"ha ha, those Christmas pranksters and their moving my jumper and ugg boots around!!"

I had to fill in a report and everything, making a big fuss over my stupid padlock that must have a skeleton key out there. No cops came luckily because I think I would have crumbled under the pressure and ended up admitting to being the Christmas Boob.

I blame starbucks for all this. No Nogg. Stupid Caffeine Drugging Toffee Nut, and Pretend Robbery.

At least I won't be able to show my face at the gym for another week.

Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Tony Soprano Robbed Me


That's Right. Tony Soprano Robbed Me. When I say Me, however I mean my boss.

So, its a Tuesday afternoon, I'm chillin at work - watching the afternoon movie, eating a big bowl of popcorn, (busy) when a man who looks exactly like Tony Soprano breezes in the door and demands to speak to my boss, he asks for him by name and says its a personal matter.

Apparently he was in the area selling Cristal, (Cristal that's fallen off the back of a truck, if you know what I mean..) and would we like to buy 5 cases?? Well Yes, my boss would like to buy 5 cases, and throw in another 7 cases whilst you're at it. So off he goes with the envelope of £1200 of my bosses cash and walks around the corner and is never seen again.

seriously!!!!!!!!!!!! What kind of man robs people whilst they are at work in the middle of the day!!?!

This is the truly hilarious part though - the part that made it clearly obvious that this guy was an up to no good criminal: his professional criminal routine involves name dropping Liam and Noel Gallagher..

MASTER CRIMINAL: "so I'm just doing some catering for a party at a studio with Liam and Noel...."

ME: "Liam and Noel?? Gallagher??"

MASTER CRIMINAL: "yes, yes, how about I drop some invites off for you for a party they are going to be at tomorrow night"

HA! Everyone with half a brain knows that Liam and Noel Gallagher wouldn't be seen dead together at a Christmas Party considering how much they hate each other. That was my first clue.

There are police coming to take a police report. Hope they wear those funny hats.

Suspect: 50 year old man with olive skin, a rough look in his eye, in an expensive grey suit, about 5"8, portly body, selling pretend Cristal and inviting people to parties with Liam and Noel Gallagher.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Christmas Reality

My Problems:

There is no eggnog anywhere in London!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have been traipsing across the land to every starbucks I can find only to pathetically whimper to the harassed cashier "do you have nogg??" to which they reply "of course I do you idiot! it's Christmas time!!!!" or "no way, you fat fucks drank it all". Tomorrow I am getting up extra early to go to a shop that is in no way near my tube because I know they have eggnog. Why must I suffer so much this time of year in my search for nogg?? don't the nogg suppliers know its snowing out there!!!

Real Problems:

I haven't eaten in 2 years. Everyone I'm related to died of AIDS, I'm HIV positive and I have to walk 5 hours a day to get the ARV's that are the only thing barely keeping me alive. I don't even know wtf Christmas is.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Edward Syringehands


MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!

HEROIN MILK JUNKY SCUM.

what else can I do with them???

Thursday, December 09, 2010

The Mystery of the Milk Syringes

I have a lot of weird things delivered to me at work - part of this is because when you shoot tv commercials a lot of random stuff gets delivered as products and props, and you find yourself with three cats on your desk and 22 bottles of orange cordial wondering where everything went wrong after graduating from College...

Today's delivery is the most mystifying thus far:

Yep. That's an unmarked box. Full of Syringes. Filled with Milk.

"Are you sure these are for me??" I asked the courier who dropped them off, but seen as how all he had to go on was a postcode he was adamant that these were in fact - mine. "Yes. Maam. You need the milk??" (sorry not being racist, but he didn't speak excellent English. Like me.) I tried to convince him that I was in no way in need of a weird unmarked box full of milk syringes. God knows who would want them?? I sure didn't. But in the end I signed for them.. (peer pressure)

Then I sat and stared at them for a good hour or so.

Who were they meant for?
Why did they come to me?
Does someone think I need to be injecting myself with milk?
What kind of sick freak injects themselves with milk?
Are they milk syringes for someone with baby gorillas or something??
Who nearby has a pet gorilla and is hiding it in their bedroom. I want to feed this gorilla.

So if you happen to live in the Central London area, and are missing a weird box of milk syringes then by all means get in touch! They will be left in the snow because what better place than to leave a random delivery of milk needles than in the front yard??



At any rate I know what my secret santa is getting this year in the stocking!!!

Monday, December 06, 2010

Sunday, December 05, 2010

Method Steve

It's interesting going to ones Gym Christmas Party, for one - its impossible to recognise anybody with their clothes on.

My gym party was held at the best and weirdest place in Ladbroke Grove. The Inn on the Green. I love the Inn on the Green. The Inn on the Green is a welcome to all venue. During the summer months you can drink a cheap pint over looking Portobello Green on the balcony, and in winter you can stand over the radiator whilst viewing the snow from the warmth inside. They have live music and bands every week and sic dj's who play great rap music. It's also a place you can hang out and smoke dope and have a bbq cook-off. You smell the place before you see it. That smell of a joint lingers in the air on the walk through the Green to get there.

It is also a place where you can meet the real life 'Begbie'.


We arrived for the Christmas Party early. And sat back to watch people to arrive looking for the semblance of someone I might recognise. I didn't think anyone would recognise me being that I brushed my hair for the occasion and had an outfit on that hadn't been found at the bottom of a dumpster.

A few trainers arrived as did some old ladies who I thought were gym members but like I said it was hard to tell without them being encompassed by the steam of a shower and their baggy skin hanging around their ankles. Clothing is not conductive to parties born of the fitness industry.

I didn't know what to expect from a gym Christmas party? I mean, do you go up to someone and go "hey! how long can you run on the treadmill before throwing up??" If anyone had asked me why I was going to the gym my answer would be "to run better for the trains so I don't pass out and die". Luckily I didn't need to think up any awkward conversation openers because this is when Begbie showed up.

Begbie placed his drink on my table then quickly ran off to the bathroom to take a line. His friend who was three sheets to the wind stood slowly swaying to the gentle tunes of Xzibit. Upon Begbie's return we learnt many things.

Begbie hates Thailand. Begbie said he went to a party and someone asked him how many dudes he had slept with on his trip? "not one dude! I always check the adams apple!" apparently this check of the neck isn't sufficient these days to tell the dudes from the ladies, and you have to do the more stringent "rib check" if you're pounding a chick and she has a scar on her ribs, chances are you are pounding a dude. "there are lots I didn't check though, so how many dudes I accidentally slept with is a mystery".

Begbie really liked Australia. Sydney has the best Meth in the world. Begbie was a reformed drug addict, who went to Sydney for his honeymoon and stayed for years (minus the wife). And this was just our introduction to Meth-Head Steve (aka: Method Steve)

Method Steve was the most interesting person I have met since moving to London. Method Steve is a roadie, and travels around Europe working on every major band over the past 20 years. Method Steve got into a fight with Liam Gallagher whilst working on an Oasis tour, and Liam took a disliking to Steve's shirt. Well Steve isn't someone who will just stand around and cop abuse if you are going to slag his clothing off so he pulled Liam in close, told him "I'm not wearing this shirt for YOU!" and headbutted him in the face. Noel had to break the fight up and Steve was consequently kicked off the tour. Headbutting the driving force of one of the biggest bands of recent times didn't hinder Steve's career in anyway and he has been touring the world with bands ever since. He happened to be working on the Leftfield Tour, he said he would get us tickets for the show the next night. Method Steve was truly one of the most genuine people I have come across in recent times. He said he might not remember the conversation because of obvious cocaine reasons, but he took our numbers and promised to text us the next day.

We stood around talking to Method Steve for a good 3 hours and by the end of the night we were all good friends. I was highly surprised to find a text from Method Steve the next morning saying that he wasn't able to secure the tickets because of all the damn VIP's. Method Steve if anything is a man of his word. Just don't give him a side eye because he will glass you in the face so quickly you'll think you walked out of the house covered in glass shards.

The Inn on the Green never disappoints.

Saturday, December 04, 2010

Naked Vagine Party

People just don't care about anything at the gym. The gym is a world unto its own.. It's the one place where I am pretty much aiming to wear the worst outfit I can find. All of my gym clothes are one step away from being thrown in the bin. Some have even been put in the bin, and then rescued because "that garbage top would make a good gym top!"... When I go to the gym on weekends I don't even brush my teeth, brush my hair or wash my face, I roll out of bed into the worst clothes I own, and run on the treadmill looking like I slept in a ditch all night.

But seriously who cares?? No one cares at the gym. It's the one place on earth you can look absolutely disgusting and no one gives a second thought to it.

Not only that but peoples behaviour at the gym is specific only to the confines of the gym. Want to walk around naked whilst blow drying your hair in a room of strangers?? the gym. Want to stand in front of someone staring awkwardly into their eyes whilst squat thrusting in their direction? the gym.

And I don't know if it's just my gym where all the freaks go to, but there is something not quite right about the clientele.

EXAMPLE: the other night I was on the cross trainer and there is an area right in front of me where trainers do routines with people. I am always watching someone do a bunch of random moves but generally it is no more bothersome than having someone ride and pant and sweat next to you for 30 straight minutes. So this trainer and this woman start going through a stretchy yoga routine - to which I might add - yoga pants are an integral part of any stretching regime... as are underpants!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So this woman is stretching and putting her legs over her head and generally doing as many 'queef' poses as she can about a meter from my face and all I can see are two flaps - hedged in and camel-toed into her yoga pants. Seriously lady, underpants are a big part of life, and maybe when you're pointing your vagina at the ceiling is one of those times.

I couldn't look away. There is something about spotting wild vagina that makes it impossible to look at anything else. Try as I might to distract myself in a good song, or god forbid, even watch the news, nothing could distract me from that strangers hump, twisting and writhing an arms length away.

She totally ruined my work out for me.

Then when you leave the floor of the gym, slipping over everyone's sweat puddles, and make it into the safety of locker room, it is seriously like a nature program of 'Naked Londoners Gone Wild'

If yoga pant vagine was too much for me, then the usual display of nakedness and tits being thrown around almost missing your face, and naked sweaty ladies sitting in front of your locker with no towel! (hygiene!) that was surely enough to almost turn me off Humans for life. It's just a flap fest like no other.

That is why I think it will be really interesting tonight at the Gym Christmas Party!!!

For serious, I could not think of a more awkward gathering of people, than the usual naked sweaty slobs I see every day and pretending they don't exist.

"Merry Christmas!! Sweaty Guy who runs in baggy orange pants in boxer shorts! Hope your ball sack recovers one day!"

"Happy New Year Moisturiser Lady, I hope you get a giant tub of that lotion you like to so slowly apply to every inch of your skin whilst stretching your limbs every which way in the change room"

All I can hope for is that my eyes don't accidentally meet the eyes of vagina yoga pants lady because that would truly be a dying inside moment. AH who am I kidding, I've never even seen her face.. but if she lays down and starts thrusting towards the ceiling in no undies.. I will be able to spot her in a crowded room a mile away.