Dreams are wonderful things, I have often whiled a way a happy night imagining myself canoodling with a famous rockstar, mentioning no names coughDaveGrohlyousaucybugger, or filmstar.
I'm lucky as well in that my dreams are pretty lucid, I have the ability to plot what I want to happen next, a bit like the brilliant choose your own endings goosebumps books my darling daddy brought me back from America when I was a little girl. In one memorable dream I was being attacked by a murderer (you just know he was a murderer), then poof he was a dwarf and poof that scary knife he was carrying was now an inflatable hammer. Now some may argue that that picture is potentially more concerning than the original, not I.
I must have done something nice to myself for my subconscious to reward me with two celebrity based dreams in a row, the night before last I was doing my weekly dream shop, standing at the till in the supermarket waiting to pay for my groceries when who do I spy in front of me? Good old Steve Buscemi. We chatted for a while, vegetable related banter and suchlike and started talking about the world, culminating in him asking me on a date (how wonderful!). During our prolonged conversation about our world views, the chap behind me starting tutting and coughing, turning round to apologise I saw that it was the very lovely Ewan McGregor. Now let me assure you, in reality as much as I love Mr Buscemi, I would forgo conversation with him in favour of Ewan, if only on the off chance we could break into 'Come What May' from Moulin Rouge together. My dream self however ignored the scot and carried on my purchasing. MADNESS I tell you.
My second celebrity dream, no doubt inspired by the fact that my love life is lived vicariously through watching copious amounts of Friends, Sex and the city and how I met your mother, me and Mr Big from SATC ended up in my neighbour's house and we made hot dirty sexytime. It was quite wonderous, not just because normally my dreams don't allow me to go beyond kissing a man.
I quite fancy taking a nap now, maybe next time I'll be in the middle of a Colin Farrell/Christian Bale/Heath Ledger (living of course) sandwich.
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
Monday, 19 October 2009
On a lighter note
I love Glee.
It's my dream come true, I would literally kill or at least badly maim a puppy to live in that programme.
Seriously, what isn't perfect about this? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PfNwO9HNqh4
It's my dream come true, I would literally kill or at least badly maim a puppy to live in that programme.
Seriously, what isn't perfect about this? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PfNwO9HNqh4
Am I expecting too much?
As a recent graduate, who thoroughly enjoys nothing more than moaning about my lack of employment, especially to friends who have found that phantom job, I have started thinking about the reasons for my lack of vocation.
I recently applied to a job that I quite wanted, shockingly as opposed to a job I didn't want, it was working for a very well known advertising and PR company in their healthcare division. The recruiters were wonderful, although my opinion may be slightly biased by the fact that they told me I was perfect and they were really positive about my chances. So it was with slight trepidation I bumbled off to London for the morning, secretly relishing the fact that I was on a train, with real commuters, wearing a skirt and shiny new heels, going off to potentially the start of a new life.
I have little interview experience, nonetheless I though that I was charming, just the right amount of self deprecating, and most importantly I thought I showed I had heart. The HR girls, who again were lovely and positive, said that I would hear by that afternoon or the monday after. It is now the monday after the monday after and I've heard nothing...... I even emailed the initial recruiter to see if she had received any feedback and it appears she is ignoring me too.
I can't deny I haven't dwelt on this. In fact I've been tossing and turning (literally, I can't stay still in bed when I'm thinking) all night wondering what I did wrong, if I have something fundamental wrong with my personality whereby I think I'm being witty and charming but in reality I turn into a snarling precocious monster who spews bile or indeed just monosyllabic grunts.
I'm not a big sharer of emotions, ever. At all. Picture an upper class victorian gentleman, stiff upper lip and all that and then double it, triple it even.
This has the unfortunate effect of unintentional emotional spillage; normally when watching anything to do with animals dying. However it pops up at unpredictable moments, at lunch with my mother for example, in a restaurant where talk of jobs turned to me lip wobbling, it wobble all the way though finishing my dry panini and diet coke, it wobbled (with the wonderful neighbour of lip wibbling; the eye well) when the waiter came to ask how the food was (dreadful, and my much loved diet coke was flat) and I carried on wibbling and welling through several shops on our girly shopping spree, when my mum asked if I wanted to be a tv researcher and I told her through sniffles that I'd love to be one but the only person who could help was my dad and he'd never do it (oh woe is me, blah blah blah) I very nearly got hysterical.
In summation, this has lead me to ponder whether I am expecting too much, maybe I'm not that special? I don't, as far as I'm aware, have an overly inflated ego in fact quite the opposite but I have always achieved when I put my mind to something. Maybe previously I have been going after things that are achievable, and now I've reached my limit. What does that mean though? I've recently applied to medical school, if I don't get in there is there anything left for me? How is one supposed to know what they are meant to do?
I recently applied to a job that I quite wanted, shockingly as opposed to a job I didn't want, it was working for a very well known advertising and PR company in their healthcare division. The recruiters were wonderful, although my opinion may be slightly biased by the fact that they told me I was perfect and they were really positive about my chances. So it was with slight trepidation I bumbled off to London for the morning, secretly relishing the fact that I was on a train, with real commuters, wearing a skirt and shiny new heels, going off to potentially the start of a new life.
I have little interview experience, nonetheless I though that I was charming, just the right amount of self deprecating, and most importantly I thought I showed I had heart. The HR girls, who again were lovely and positive, said that I would hear by that afternoon or the monday after. It is now the monday after the monday after and I've heard nothing...... I even emailed the initial recruiter to see if she had received any feedback and it appears she is ignoring me too.
I can't deny I haven't dwelt on this. In fact I've been tossing and turning (literally, I can't stay still in bed when I'm thinking) all night wondering what I did wrong, if I have something fundamental wrong with my personality whereby I think I'm being witty and charming but in reality I turn into a snarling precocious monster who spews bile or indeed just monosyllabic grunts.
I'm not a big sharer of emotions, ever. At all. Picture an upper class victorian gentleman, stiff upper lip and all that and then double it, triple it even.
This has the unfortunate effect of unintentional emotional spillage; normally when watching anything to do with animals dying. However it pops up at unpredictable moments, at lunch with my mother for example, in a restaurant where talk of jobs turned to me lip wobbling, it wobble all the way though finishing my dry panini and diet coke, it wobbled (with the wonderful neighbour of lip wibbling; the eye well) when the waiter came to ask how the food was (dreadful, and my much loved diet coke was flat) and I carried on wibbling and welling through several shops on our girly shopping spree, when my mum asked if I wanted to be a tv researcher and I told her through sniffles that I'd love to be one but the only person who could help was my dad and he'd never do it (oh woe is me, blah blah blah) I very nearly got hysterical.
In summation, this has lead me to ponder whether I am expecting too much, maybe I'm not that special? I don't, as far as I'm aware, have an overly inflated ego in fact quite the opposite but I have always achieved when I put my mind to something. Maybe previously I have been going after things that are achievable, and now I've reached my limit. What does that mean though? I've recently applied to medical school, if I don't get in there is there anything left for me? How is one supposed to know what they are meant to do?
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