warmlove's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Am I losing my subtlety? *I've had the same jeans on for four days now/gonna go to the disco in the middle of the town* I've actually been wearing the same pair of indigo wash Top Shop bootcut for about eight days now. No lie..I don't smell as far as I know..the worse thing I am is stinky-sweet cos I've showered and baby powdered and perfumed myself between sliding into the same pair of jeans, eight days consecutively. I'm working on a film directed by a guy from London Film School who I worked with on a grad film (the one where everyone loved one another so much we has three wrap parties) tommorow so perhaps I might be wearing the same trousers again, cos you cant wear clean, pressed jeans on a film set...its like, the LAW (well one I made up so I wouldn't feel a wee bit skanky). We had the last Raindance Directing class last week. When we had all finished and were swapping emails around, and vowing to all work on each others films (a common insincere-itude always passed around after one of those things) I made a slight fool out of myself, in the kind of way that isn't a big deal at the time, but an hour later, you cringe. There was a guy in the class who I hadn't really got a chance to chat to over the weeks, but he struck me as...hansome is the word, but not a word I usually use (hot, attractive and fit mean different things) so, realising that it was the last class and he has stood with someone behind me, I turn around and almost yell: 'HI! whats YOUR name!?', then grab his hand to shake it! Just totally random, so it looks like the most corny, forward chat-up ever!! He looked a little embarrassed, smiled and told me his name and shook my hand that I thrust into his face like it wanted a Mr Darcy-era kiss or something. I then announced to my two class-mates Kirsty and Ellie: 'Ooo, that was so random: What's your name!' and tried to find someone else who I hadn't spoken to to try and even things out! Some of us went to drink down the pub afterwards: Our teacher (everyone though he was a David Brent-alike...except me because I know what trouble telling people that has got me into in the past!!), cool accent American blond lady, hot Swedish guy (I love Swedes, I always seem to get on well with them) who goes to me: 'I prefer blondes [glances pointedly at my dark hair], sorry, no offence' and I pretended to be very offended, two Italian guys, handsome english guy I accidently didn't mean to look like I was hitting on, Ellie from Streatham and a coupla others. I had only eaten a plate of rice and a twirl that day so I didn't want a repeat of 'Camden-Town Gate' of a coupla weeks ago. I took it slow (unusual for me) but lovely Italian dude was buying everyone drinks like there was no tommorow...was a nightbus night and I had to wake -up in time for Blue Arrow service the next morning. (4 hours sleep...ow, but I took a nurofen + water and felt lush in the morning!) They got me working in this cute Victorian pub in Victoria (Had a table of cute, polite yuppies..yum) and the next day I was a waitress at The Hilton. God! The Hilton was awful...I had to wear a disgusting, button-to-the-top navy bell-hop top, my hair up which looks awful and serve too-close-together tables at some big company dinner where the MC was that terrible Brian (Donelly??) No, Brian something, comedian off the telly...my arms almost fell off from the weight of the plates and out of about 25ish waiting staff I was the only English person...but I impressed a guy from The Democratic Republic Of Congo with some random bits of French I remember from GCSE (I was great at French, I just realised in hindsight...got an A 'n everything!!) I've really let myself go since Secondary School, I have realised...but in a good way...I cared soo much about getting good grades and doin' the work like a good, boring lil' girl...but what for?? I got very good grades, I know that when it comes to learning pointless stuff, crammin' for
London...I still feel like a prisoner of my own bad decisions...ooo, sooo melodramatic y'hear! But I cant go home to Hampshire cos it would be a HUGE step back and I'd have no money, no car, no job...blah, blah, blah and staying in London is crap at the moment cos my only options are shit job for not that much money, or no money for films to get a bit more experience in a field that I dont want to do forever...Shit....I cant be crashing at my Granmas for much longer, I know she thinks I should be gone soon...and RUDE: so random chef who I'd never met before! at the Victorian pub who I was making casual conversation with (well, butting into one she was having with someone else) looks at me, slightly snootily and goes: 'Well, you can't live at your granmas forever' Bitch..all I said was: 'I'm lucky, I dont pay rent, I still live at home.' Bitch. Anyway..a friend said the other day, that I'm always happy, which I sometimes think is true...but I genuienly feel that if I'm in the same situation in 6 months, a years time it would be more interesting for everyone if I jumped in front of a tube train with a song or a film script I've written so it'll be a hit with my tragic death...But killing yourself if finally giving up...and what is soooooooo terrible for me to give up?? I got my liver, got my mouth, got my brain, got my pancreas...no tonsils though. X 10:58 p.m. - 2007-03-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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