There are lessons in life and moments of undignified clarity that require me to stop what I am doing and write, spilling out hot tears into words, fervently typing across a screen, in hope that the glaring black and white letters force me to learn, the calcified lesson of self-worth. And, in doing so, never, ever, feel like this again.
I write this sat cross legged on my bed with a damp messy bun, my favourite tortoiseshell glasses perched on my face, after pulling on fleecy yellow jogging bottoms over recently diminishing hips. Once canary bright, these hideous things are now a dull mustard colour with frayed edges, acquired seven years ago as a fresher at uni. I love them. On my top half I am hunched inside in a men’s Charles Thyrwhitt cashmere blend navy jumper, it once belonged to my best friend’s little brother, Tom, affectionately known as Turkey to his friends. I was given this almost a decade ago, after vomiting all over my own clothing, aged 15. So soft and snugly warm, I have worn it to bed, for nine winters since. I look awful in navy, truly vampire and sickly. I look awful in general right now. This outfit will never see daylight, just lamp light. It smells of Aromatherapy Associates Deep Relax with a hint of (much cheaper) lavender essential oil. When my bed and I smell of these oils, it’s because I am in the midst of a sad and highly anxious episode, trying to settle myself, usually having just swallowed a handful of Kalms tablets, also known as “crack” to fellow anxiety sufferers.
As an intelligent, chatty and opinionated woman, I feel a great responsibility to exhaustively and cathartically get this blog post OUT of my system, and onto the internet, so that I can carry on living my life.
I graduated from my law degree three years ago now, and have clung onto some bits of knowledge, mainly so nobody can shaft me, it comes in handy sometimes. Alas, it would seem that I am still being shafted…
The luxury or essential status of a product for tax purposes was highlighted by no legal debacle better than the McVities case. In this case it was deemed that because Jaffa Cakes go hard when they are stale, they are indeed cakes, not biscuits, and therefore, wait for it… essential – so exempt from consumer tax. I read this case many times and still do not understand why cake is essential. However, I do know that when I’m on my period, I CANNOT PUT A FUCKING FAIRY CAKE IN MY KNICKERS to deal with the painful and messy situation. INSTEAD, I have to employ the use of a LUXURY sanitary towel or tampon. It is quite absurd. To be fair, plugging oneself with cotton to avoid spraying bloody uterine lining everywhere is a luxurious experience. Just like going on a monthly spa break.
So, a room dominated by men, vote against removing the consumer luxury tax on period products *slow claps*. These MP’s clearly love cake more than they do women. This makes me all kinds of sad, because in 2015, the wonderful machinery of a woman’s body is still met with grumblings of disapproval. Legislative disapproval.
I refer you all to Dominique Christina’s period poem. Watch it, you might fall in love with her and start clapping. If you don’t, get off my blog.
I’m writing this mad excuse for a blog post, now on a train to Euston, listening to Beyoncé “smack it smack it in the urr”. Which brings me nicely onto partying, drinking and general misbehaviours. This month has had some truly wild nights out.
As someone with a liberal head and very traditional heart, I worry where the seemingly redundant idea of old school, chivalrous masculinity is going. I appreciate it. Few things are sexier than old fashioned manners like opening the car door and walking to the other side, paying bills, pulling out chairs. Traditional gentlemanliness is hot. It is usually indicative of someone who has been raised well. I make a mental note when I see a man doing these things, sadly it happens less and less these days. As much as this saddens me, I worry far more about gender inequality affecting my 18 year old brother. Men in the UK today have it really tough…
Feminist – funny word isn’t it? The “femin” part, linguistically referring to female or feminine, and “ist” meaning one that is. This word excludes men entirely. It’s easy to see why, at face value, some men disassociate themselves with this word.
I’ve harped on quite a lot about weight loss in my last post. Let’s move on… London life. Since moving to London over 2 years ago, I thought it was EVERYTHING, the only place I would want to live and spend most of my time. Interestingly, and maybe predictably, the older I get, the more I salivate over gorgeous places like Bath, Sussex and the Cotswolds, where I often go to see my friends who are living the dream. It occurred to me, during a recent weekend in Bath, that everything you need is there; the best coffee shop in the UK, a Space NK, Opium bar, and seriously beautiful architecture. It wins bonus points for being one of the least likely places ISIS will be attacking any time soon and I swear it is a tad warmer than London. What more could you want? Oh yeah, a job… I don’t want to work in a coffee shop. *sigh*.
I’ve not really done one of these in a while, a chatty life blog post that is. I thought I should start a mini-series of life updates. Today is a headachy, PMS day where I can’t focus on work, and feel like writing. My best friend Amelia is involved in an altercation with some wallpaper in her kitchen, so her responses to my chatty/badgering Whatsapps are sporadic to say the least (I have more than one friend, honest)… SO darling Mil, this one is for you, and also for the cathartic joy of writing things down, thus feeling my chaotic life is in order because I have narrated it to you through the medium of my often neglected baby aka emmasteive.com. I hope for anyone who knows me, this reads funny, and I hope for anyone who doesn’t know me, that you don’t think I am a total nutter. Caveat: this will be largely unedited and written as these thoughts come into my head, fresh and organic yo. Here goes…
Excuse the mess. Our cleaner has been unwell. #firstworldproblems.
Firstly and in no order of life updates importance, but something I am thrilled with – I HAVE LOST 10 POUNDS! Now before anyone who doesn’t weigh themselves retorts that 10lbs is really not that much and they can sweat that out in one afternoon playing rounders, as I have recently been told by a large man at work, go fill a bag with 10 tins of baked beans and PICK UP THAT MOTHER FUCKER. It’s a big ol’ weight. My aim is to lose a stone to a stone and a half, or 21 lbs to my American readers, before mincing off on holiday to Sardinia in a few weeks. There will be an awful lot of frolicking around in a bikini, lying on boats, jumping off boats, exploring sleepy little towns, and finding gorgeous deserted beaches. I am really looking forward to soaking up all the Sardinian beachy beauty with salty hair and flip flop tan lines. Aimee and I have hired a convertible car to wizz around in, I expect we will return it full of sand and Italian men. Can you tell how much I love the whole club 18 – 30 thing? *vomits*.
SO, I am indeed less fat, and excited about my holiday. Next life update coming tomorrow. This series of posts could be called Emma’s Ephemera – brief and only relevant for a short while. I hope you enjoy!
Apologies for those who don’t follow me on instagram, it looks like I have dropped off the side of the earth. I’m having one of those mental busy exciting social kind of summers, working and playing in equal measure.
After recently reading about Tess Holiday’s signing to MiLK Model Management, and her career exploding in rambunctious style, I have started to notice the rise of the (UK) size 14+ model. This has filled my mind with all sorts of conflicting thoughts. Firstly, let’s call a spade a spade, one of my fortes in life… by “plus size” I am referring to the obvious – fat.
There is a note in my phone, of stuff I have to do (before dying – obviously), so I thought, why not make it into a blog post? Maybe the universe will read it and make these things happen.
Life wooshes by so quickly, and I feel passionate about people doing the things they WANT to do, over what they feel they SHOULD do. Memorable and amazing experiences are everything, so this is my growing bucket list, in no specific order:
Swim with pigs in the Bahamas
Road trip across America
Create my own beauty brand
Take over the world with said beauty brand
Become a published writer
Sail around the Croatian Islands
Go Husky sledding
Do a sky dive
Sleep under a starry sky somewhere in the mountains (cheesy much!?)
Have some kids, three would be great
Get back into painting, create some art (my flatmate has reserved a big, expectant naked wall)
Snorkel with a Whale Shark
Visit the following places in Italy: The Amalfi Coast, Portofino, The Vatican, Venice, Rome, Sorrento, Lake Como, Sardinia.
My life is spinning, drinks flowing, music carrying me through each day on the cusp of another exciting thing place adventure opportunity person. Words are one of my art forms. A form of expression. I want to splash them across this blog, painting a vivid picture that is rich, detailed… a lush, vibrant oil. Brush strokes quick and colourful, funny and open.
Malleable and momentary, I love having an expressive outlet through words, like I love paints, lipstick, working each day with designers and writers. All of this is happening at once and under my feet the rattle and hum of London takes me from bar to barre. I ache, I laugh and I am in love with life right now. Forgive me for my late slipping on the frequency of blog posts. They will come.