Tag Archives: kelly

Gracias por todo, Kellysita!

It saddens me that I’m once again writing a house farewell blog. This time it’s our favourite crazy blonde, Kelly (AKA Kelstar AKA Special K AKA Crackpants AKA Kellysita) will be leaving, what surely can’t be called The Playboy Mansion anymore after the departure of three of the original bunnies.

Kels will be heading about three blocks down the road to join the lovely Sue and Marko, so fortunately we will still be able to regularly convene for wine drinking, gossip and reality TV. I think the house is going to be very quiet without Miss Kelly… no trampoline noises… no dancing to hip hop in the lounge and I know I will miss the visits up to my room to consult with “the oracle” and in-depth fancy-dress discussions, Westside visits (Nandos, River Island and Primani… it’s like a little dream) and kitchen experiments (who knew couscous and peas was a real meal?).

I want to thank Kelly for introducing me to the joys of Crunchie Nut and curry addiction and a slew of catchphrases that have made their way into my vocabulary never to leave… this is just a sample (some of them are not appropriate for a family blog):

  • Crackwhore!
  • Let’s make like an Italian bread and get the foccacia
  • Nice eyes, can I touch!
  • Avocado punachi (translation provided on request)

I wanna rock 'n roll all night and party everyday

I wanna rock 'n roll all night and party everyday

Nice eyes, can I touch?

Nice eyes, can I touch?

Snow... tasty!

Snow... tasty!

Frightening people on the train last Halloween

Frightening people on the train last Halloween

All is not lost, however, since the terror known as Dawn will be rejoining the household. Dawn and I lived together for four years of chaos, panic, disorder and absolute joy and I can’t wait!

No news is good news

I have been doing… nothing. I am absolutely broke after having to pay for my tooth to be fixed so going out is not on the cards. Also I am fully committed to “Just Juice January” (© Kelly Turner) so not a drop of alcohol for 10 days. I am totally enjoying my relaxation though. It’s a bit crazy at work at the moment being the beginning of the year and I need evening and weekend decompression. Excitingly though, Kelly is back from SA. I missed her like mad so I’m super-happy! Fortunately, she is just as chilled as I am… we have decided we might go to a movie today. That’s if we can be bothered to brush our hair…

We haven’t had a band of the day for a while but I’ve been obsessing on The Vines hardcore lately so I thought I’d bring them to your attention just in case you didn’t know they were around. Hailing from Sydney, Australia , these garage-rockers are almost as well known for their offstage antics as their distinctive Nirvana-meets-the-Beatles sound. Able to switch with ease between grinding riffs and folky melodies, their aggression is tempered with a sad sweetness. Unfortunately beautiful but damaged vocalist and Asperger’s sufferer, Craig Nicholls, has had difficulty tempering his aggression leading to onstage rants at fans, attacks on the press and subsequent resignation of band members. While The Vines were set to tour again in 2008 and 2009 after the release of their fourth album Melodica, Craig’s mental health is once again in question and plans to perform have been shelved. Part of the poignancy of their music comes from Craig’s painfully aware lyrics about a world he feels alienated by and it’s easy to fall in love with the mixture of anger and longing.

Must-have album: Highly Evolved
My favourite song: Get Free – I challenge you to get the opening riff out of your head. Absolutely amazing in its tooth-grinding rage
Hot band members: Craig is gorgeous… but frightening
For fans of: Nirvana, The Hives, The Subways

The Vines

Control yourself… take only what you need from it

Last night Barb, Kelly and I went to see MGMT at The Forum in Kentish Town. We almost didn’t make it after I stupidly left half the tickets at home and Kelly had to rush home and retrieve them. She is totally the biggest legend, everrrr! I have to say that the gig was probably the most boring I have ever been to and that I will never go to The Forum again… but we’ll get to that.

The opening act was called A Place To Bury Strangers. They were mind-bendingly awful. I’m not sure if it was just because their sound was terrible… earbleedingly loud and with sonic feedback that made your hair stand on end… or because they sounded like The Smiths being sexually assaulted by Electric Six. They kept meandering off on Pink Floyd-esque tangents tempered with flashing strobe lights and we had to wonder if we would have enjoyed it more if we were off our tits on some kind of hallucinogenic. Couple the sound issues with zero band chemistry and no crowd interaction, if I never see them onstage again I won’t feel like I’m missing out.

MGMT were brilliant. They were all dressed up for Thanksgiving as Native Americans, apart from Andrew who was probably the cutest pilgrim I’ve ever seen. Where it went wrong was that we had seated tickets and the security would not allow anyone to stand… at all. This is an electro-rock band. It’s DANCE music. So we sat there through Time To Pretend and Electric Feel with folded arms. It was about as rock ‘n roll as a pensioners’ tea party. When Barb stood up literally for two or three seconds to stretch her legs, she was reprimanded SS-style with a torch after she had already sat down. I may have made my feelings that I thought said security operative was a Nazi a little too clear and I was also reprimanded. A heated verbal exchange ensued. I think we were seconds from being kicked out. Eventually the entire balcony rebelled during Kids and got up and danced and the gig was actually fun for 10 whole minutes. What I want to know is why, if it was so unsafe for us to stand at any point during the gig, did they not have to stop the whole show when the crowd rebelled. Fuck The Forum… anyway… here is a little video of Electric Feel.

No photos. The lighting was terrible. But I’ll share this pic of Andrew with you cos he’s just too gorgeous.
Andrew VanWyngarden

On the way home we were fortunate enough to run into Graham and Hilt who had been to The Grand. We all decided to pop into the Puzzle to say hi to Brendon who is in London for a couple of days. I somehow ended up in an argument with one of his friends about ideologies around individuality. He was pushing all my buttons, calling me emo and then eventually settling on the nickname Emu… this is an emu… looks just like me. As revved up as I got, it was good to have a full on debate with someone. Rematch, kiddo?


Confucious say: the party of destiny often leads to the hangover of doom

I woke up this morning feeling like I had been run over by a truck. I was in no way surprised by this. Last night the wheels completely fell off.

We started out with a few friends over for the rugby. I think everyone was super-nervous for the game. South Africa’s game has been a bit off recently and none of us could handle the idea of a loss to England. So we drank. Kelly and I polished off a bottle of rosé in the first half… it was one of those days. After we convincingly destroyed the English side we moved over to celebration mode. Possibly this should not have involved playing the “Roxanne” drinking game with the vodka concoction we had poured into the blender… but these things happened.

It was then decided that being at home was boring and that we needed to be at the Puzzle so all ten of us picked up and headed down the road. By this time most of us were in a state if disrepair… it was 6pm. The rest of the evening stretches ahead of me in a kind of snakebite filtered haze. I remember dancing like a lunatic. I remember snogging two boys, one of whom was CONSIDERABLY younger than me… oh dear. I remember shoving Bobby on the dancefloor to Rage Against The Machine in some kid of bizarre mini-moshpit. I remember Kelly and I being onstage and singing to Panic At The Disco… with actions. I remember having a number of DMC’s with Fi. I remember having the time of my life.

It’s taken me almost the whole day to recover. I am most definitely never drinking again… well at least not until next weekend…

Life’s no fun without a good scare

I am somewhat concerned by the fact that I was more comfortable in my Halloween costume last night than I am dressed like a normal person. Unlike many of the Halloween revellers we saw out there, my costume was most certainly not cute. I painted my face like a skull, put on a dishevelled back wig, painted fake blood across my throat and coming out of my mouth and then fashioned a Goth style dress out of a skirt, top and bra. My intentions seem to have served me well since I managed to frighten not only a number of small children but quite a few adults as well. Is it possible I got too much into character?

I think our journey from Earlsfield to Limehouse provided entertainment for quite a few travellers. I suppose part of it was down to the nature of our outfits. I was walking around with my bra out, Kelly was a Playboy Bunny suicide, Barb was a very saucy witch and Candice was a slinky kitty. Boys stared. A lot. One even came and draped himself on me telling me I had the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen (how suave). Unfortunately his girlfriend didn’t seem to think so. As they exited Canary Wharf we watched the beginning of the carnage and giggled… a little. Here we are all regaled.

The occasion was not only Halloween but also Fi’s birthday. I have to say that I ADORE her house. It has this mad funkiness about it that makes me feel very much at home. Fi and flatmates had gone to town with the décor and everything was draped in cobwebs, bloody handprints, spiders and pumpkins. The whole house was packed with people in mad outfits including Hilton – the Stormtrooper, Don – The Mummy and Tino who was a Knight To Remember complete with giant penis… don’t ask.

The night descended into drunken randomness and I bounced around with a cup of vodka cranberry talking to anyone and everyone before realising that it was 4 am and even zombies get sleepy. Happy birthday, Fi. It was the best Halloween ever!

Everyone hail to the Pumpkin King

I took the tube all the way home yesterday. Not something I am usually inclined to do but there were huge problems with the South West Trains line that runs through Wimbledon and I was not risking spending half an hour in a scrum at Waterloo. On the trip from Earls Court to Southfields I had the absolute pleasure of standing next to the Girls Of The Playboy Mansion… 45 years on. There were four ladies in their 70’s sitting on the tube, all made up to the nines and gossiping like mad about their husbands, going shopping and meeting up for lunches. They giggled incessantly and eventually parted with one telling the others not to overdo it on the weekend. They were absolutely fabulous. There truly is hope for the future.

Of course today is my favourite day of the year… Halloween. Not only is it the day where everyone embraces their inner ghoul but it’s also the birthday of one of my favourite people. The fabulous, Frank Iero (drumkit clambering, make-up wearing, tattoo bearing My Chemical Romance . It is without doubt the coolest day possible to be born on. In fact Frank is so proud of his birth date that he has the word Halloween tattooed across his fingers. Frank is not the only person lucky enough to have a birthday on All Hallows Eve, it is also the lovely Fi’s birthday and we will be heading to Limehouse tonight for a bit of a celebration. I have decided for the first time to deviate from dressing as the devil and this year I am merely going to be… dead.

I missed the glory of a Halloween birthday by less than a week. Yes, that’s right kids… I will be 28 on Thursday. For the first time in recorded history I have not had a pre-birthday meltdown. Normally just before my birthday I go into a black bit of despair and feel absolutely morose. This normally lifts just in time for the party, which I am usually threatening to cancel. I wonder what is different this year. I can’t say I am excited to be turning 28. Every year is an inch closer to 30… which just doesn’t sound cool. It’s not so much that I fear aging… it’s more that I wonder how much longer I will be able to get away with dressing and behaving like a kid before I become a bit of a loser. I already regularly stand at gigs and wonder if everyone is looking at me and shaking their head.

Of course it is not quite time to grow up yet, which Kelly, Barb and I proved last night. Kelly was cooking a big dinner and Barb and I decided to keep her company. A couple of bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon Shiraz got involved and the next thing we were blaring Pendulum and dancing like absolute idiots. I think the boys and poor Michelle (who is a walking zombie at the moment because she is working on the opening of Westfield) were somewhat puzzled.

Our interwebzes at home are broken so I can’t do research for obsessions at the moment. There might not be blogs over the weekend if I can’t get BT to fix it tomorrow. Grr! Wish me luck.

Tell them that she’s not scared

I am amazed by the amount of interest in the new tattoo. I think everyone has been getting vicariously inked through me. Ha ha! I can now reveal that the new art is on my right calf and it says:

I’m not afraid
At least
not to die
I’m afraid
to live
And not
remember why

And this is what it looks like. There are some shots from a better angle here but they are not for the faint of heart because you can still see a lot of the blood.

For those who don’t know, it’s an Envy On The Coast lyric from a song called Lapse. It probably sums up how I feel about life, better than anything else I’ve ever heard and of course anyone who has been following my progress on the novel I’m writing will know it was inspired by the album that Lapse is on. So it’s a celebration of the project and how it is changing me.
I sat for about an hour, which is my longest by a very long way. Fortunately Kelly was kind enough to sit with me. Having her there to distract me made a huge difference because there were times where I came close to throwing in the towel. Once again, I had the gorgeous Maio, as my artist/torturer. He is the same person who did the tattoo on my arm and quite amusingly he remarked at how good that one looks. I reminded him that he did it and he was like… oh… ha ha! Sadly this time I was facing away from him so I couldn’t stare.

Now begins the clingwrapping and the itching and the scabbing and the blistering and all the questions about why I am carrying around nappy rash cream! I also envision many questions from various people when I arrive home next week. Wish me luck…

Today’s obsession is this YouTube video by vBlogger, Jimmy010. He does little bits of observational comedy. This one is about warnings on plastic carrier bags. I’ve watched it about a hundred times and I kill myself laughing every time.

Take the red from your eyes and ink it into your skin

My shopping trip yesterday was in parts successful and other parts not. I was supposed to buy shoes… shoes were not bought. I did get a handbag, a dress and the coolest scarf, everrrrr. It is the scarf of destiny… red tartan with elastic run through it so it sort of poofs up and gets this ruffled look. Adds instant glam to any outfit. The downside is that I may be going to Kirsty’s wedding barefoot.

In other news, I am on edge. Yesterday I dropped off a design for a tattoo and this evening at six it will become my fifth piece of art. I’m not telling you what it is or where it’s going but I will reveal that it is more song lyrics in the same style as the one on my arm and that it will be my biggest tattoo by far. I am very, very nervous because I will have to sit for a lot longer than I have ever sat before… and well, tattoos hurt. Fortunately Kelly and Candice are coming to sit with me and distract me. Kelly actually wants to take photos of the process… niiiiiiiice. Stay tuned and tomorrow there should be pics.

No obsession today… too twitchy…

Take a look at my life… all black

I’d like to be able to tell you that after the debauchery of Friday night, that we were sensible last night, had one or two drinks and went home early. If I told you this, I would be liar.

Barb, Hilton and I started our evening at Jongleurs in Battersea for Colleen’s birthday. I haven’t seen any stand-up in ages so it was really fun. I used to go all the time back home and I didn’t realise how much I missed it. It was a mixed bag of comedians and the topics ranged from fighting off dingoes to being sexually assaulted by an albino posing as a snowman. Unfortunately we had to leave almost immediately after the show since it was already pushing midnight and we were due at another party.

When we arrived at Baraza for Robs’ 30th the bouncers refused to let us in. After much pleading and cajoling, we were finally allowed into the “all black” themed party. The guests were all in black to mourn the end of Robs’ 20’s and she was in a slinky red number so she could roar into her 30’s. Everyone was ever so slightly drunker than we were and the catch-up process and the chaos commenced.

After Baraza closed the crowd stumbled out into the rain and to Matt’s house. It took us forever to get there because people kept wandering off and Barb and I were attempting to herd Bobby who was pulling his customary bewildered, lost puppy act. The whole crew seemed to be in an exceptionally affectionate mood. There were endless declarations of undying love from every possible corner.

By about 4am, I think Matt had had enough of all of us drifting around his beautiful house. We had not had enough yet and headed back to the Playboy Mansion. The events are somewhat blurry but I do remember leaping around the lounge with Kelly, wailing to Sex On Fire before eventually passing at about 7.

I woke up this morning with gigantic hair, smeared make-up and a mean hangover. I wasn’t in as bad a state as Bobby, who had managed to lose his coat and his wallet and was, for some reason, wearing one full-length black sock and one white secret sock. There is very little movement in the mansion today. Both the permanent residents and their consorts are feeling more than a little worse for hair.

Next weekend we do it all again for Dawn’s birthday.

Today’s obsession is Emily the Strange.  Created by Rob Reger and his company Cosmic Debris Etc. Inc, this Goth cartoon icon is a very dark thirteen-year-old girl who only wears black, loves maths science and rock music and spends all her time with her four cats. Emily is busting with attitude and is something of an anti-hero, wanting people to follow themselves above anything else. She has a very weird and wonderful website that promotes her comic books, merch and a range of interesting little games and quizzes. I am very lucky to own a bag, notebook, keychain and a pair of rocking arm warmers from the Emily range that were a gift from the lovely Jen. And I even dressed as her for Don’s cartoons and super-heroes party last year. Check out the badlibs, they are ridiculously good fun.

I’m bouncing off the walls again

Yesterday, for the first time in a long time, I woke up and felt my party spirit rally. With being so sick recently and just generally feeling chilled out, I haven’t really felt like going out but by 2pm yesterday I could hear what Kelly calls “the call of the vodka”. Luckily, I wasn’t the only one hearing it and after a few cheeky emails to the aforementioned Kelly, a game plan was in place.

We decided to head to our usual stalwart, The Puzzle, but didn’t even make it to the bar before making a strategic exit. The few people who were in there, were quite a few years older than us and in the words of Kelly, “it even smelled like old people.” There was nothing to be done but go to Suburban.

I haven’t been to Suburban on a Friday in a very long time. Turns out the crowd is quite different to the Saturday crowd. It definitely had a vibe though and Kels and I were extremely popular with both the (unfortunately trollworthy) men and one middle-aged and very unsubtle lesbian. I found nothing to my taste (Kels, of course is not looking as she is comfortably ensconced with the lovely Donovan) so we stuck to knocking back the vodkas and getting our dance on.

I was in fine (read embarrassingly drunk and strange) form and flitted between

  • starting an argument with a guy who was trying to chat Kelly up no matter how much she ignored him
  • listening to the life story of a passing Polish tramp and demanding that he follow his dream (not that I can remember what it was) before giving him my change
  • making friends with two girls who were also out on the lash… one of whom was lovely… the other was completely deranged and frighteningly squeaky. She kept demanding that we had to be seeexxxxxxy on the dance floor.
  • stealing hats from a group of people who had come from a hat party (what is it with me and the goddamn hats???)… I almost made it out with one but it was snatched off my head by the owner at the last moment!

In the end Kelly dragged me home as the place closed. Uncharacteristically, I did not want to go home and I was pouting but fortunately Kelly is a lot more sensible than I am and shoved me into a cab that we paid for with a tenner we found lying next to the bar and that I had been storing for safekeeping in my bra (??)

Not feeling very clever this morning… head hurts, mouth like old sock, appetite of teenage boy. And tonight we get to do it all again because there are two birthday parties… wish me luck!

No obsession today… feeling too ill…

In the pink

Tonight was definitely an evening for celebrations… it was our gorgeous friend Candice’s birthday so we invited a bunch of friends around for dinner. I can’t take any credit for this one, it was Barb who made an incredible veggie lasagne and Kelly who supplied the pink fairy cake. Cands loves all things pink so she was thrilled with her pink handbag, purse and laptop bag, all wrapped in pink paper.

The birthday was not the only reason Cands was “in the pink”. Last night her Lebanese beau, Moonir, popped the question and she is officially betrothed. She is off to meet the man and collect the ring in Jordan next month with a wedding on the cards next year.

Tomorrow the contractors are coming to fix my shower. It has been leaking into Mich’s room for months and the landlord has finally heard our pleas. Unfortunately this is going to take a week and I will be sharing the house bathrooms with the other girls. Although I have only been living in the lair for six months, I have become EXTREMELY spoilt and having to trek downstairs for my daily grooming seems like a giant annoyance. Funny how quickly your perspective changes. Four and a bit years ago I was sharing a bathroom with four other girls and a bed with one other. Now I am grumbling about our house being reduced down from three bathrooms to two and there are only four of us, each with her own double room… time for a reality check, Princess?

Today’s obsession is the Em cartoon. Published daily in the free London Paper, it is the only thing that makes this dire rag, readable. Created by Maria Smedstad, as an autobiographical look into the life of a London singleton living in a shared house, it is sometimes so close to the lives of the Playboy Mansion that I wonder if Maria has been watching us. The cartoons are acerbic, regularly inappropriate and always hilarious chronicling Em and her friends’ drunken nights out, disastrous love lives and searches for fulfilment. You can check out the Em archive here. This is one of my favourites.